Rules of Contact
Page 2
She knew it would take time to form a circle of close friends, but even with her limited contacts she guessed she could find better women for Flynn to date than the ones he’d been parading in and out of the restaurant lately. She could spot posers a mile away. Maybe she could offer her services to Flynn.
“Orders up.”
Pulling her focus away from Flynn, she put her attention on the incoming orders, on directing her staff, on minding her own business, and not on Flynn’s girlfriend who was currently preening for the cameras as if she was auditioning for the next blockbuster movie.
With an eye roll, she dismissed the woman and set about making scallops.
Because Flynn Cassidy was decidedly not her problem. And no matter how sorry she felt for him, she wasn’t going to get involved in his personal life.
TWO
Flynn showed up for practice early, just like he always did. He liked to get a run in to warm up before hitting the weight room. After logging his three miles, he made his way to the weight room. As usual, he wasn’t the first one in there. His defensive teammates—the guys he counted on—were up and at it early today, too.
He spotted Junior Malone, Alfonso Labelle, Hank “Hey Man” Henderson and Chris Smith. These guys were his rocks, the ones he depended on to be at the line of scrimmage with him and prevent the offense from moving forward. He’d worked with most of these guys ever since the San Francisco Sabers had drafted him. The only one to join the team after him had been Junior Malone, but he’d been a perfect fit to the line. They were fierce, ass-kicking defenders, and the reason the Sabers had one of their best years defensively last year. They were clicking on all cylinders and even though they were only five games into the season so far, their numbers were solid.
“You’re late,” Hey Man said.
Flynn laid his towel on the bench. “I’m the only one out there running three miles before workouts. You’re all welcome to join me if you want to burn some of that fat off.”
Hey Man looked down at his stomach. “This is all muscle, man.”
Flynn let out a snort. “It looks a lot more like too much fried chicken.”
Hey Man glared at him. “Don’t mess with my fried chicken. You know it’s my weakness.”
“We all know what your weakness is, Hey Man,” Chris said. “Food. All of it.”
Flynn grinned, then lay on his back and started light with the bench press. Soon enough, he added more weight and the trainers had showed up to spot him. There was nothing like a pounding, sweat-pouring workout to get the blood pumping and prepare him for practice.
He finished off with an energy drink, jawing with the rest of the guys, then they headed out to the field where Mick Riley, the Sabers quarterback, was leading the offense in practice drills.
Since they weren’t ready for the defense to come in yet, Flynn took a minute to watch the offense play. Defense could keep the opposing team from putting points up on the board, which was key. But if your offense failed to score, your team was sunk. Mick had been leading the Sabers offense for ten years now. He’d won two championships and didn’t appear to be slowing down any time soon. At thirty-five, the man looked to be in the prime of his life, which was unusual for a quarterback.
Still, when it was time for the defense to take the field, Flynn had to take a shot at him.
“How’s it going, old man?” Flynn asked.
“Hey, fuck off, Cassidy.”
Flynn took his position with a grin at Mick.
“You know if you give shit to my quarterback, I’ll lay you flat.” Oscar Taylor, the left offensive guard, joined the fray.
Flynn crouched down in front of him. “You could try, Oscar, but you know I’m just going to run right past you.”
Oscar growled. “We’ll see about that, Flynn.”
Flynn grinned. Shit talking was a normal part of practice. It got them fired up and ready to play. So when the ball was snapped, he and Oscar went at it, though not as fiercely as they would in a game situation. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt someone on your own team.
Practice lasted two hours. After general drills, they worked with their position coaches and went over plays for this Sunday’s game against Detroit. When they were finished he and Mick headed back to the locker room together.
“How’s the new restaurant?” Mick asked.
As was typical, all the trash talk ended once practice was over. “It’s good, thanks. You and Tara should come for dinner.”
“Yeah, she asked me about it the other day. She’s eager to try it out. But it’ll be a couple of weeks before she can fly out here.”
As they walked down the long hallway toward the locker room, Flynn turned to him. “Well, actually, Irvin’s assistant has booked the team party at the restaurant two weeks from now. Is Tara coming for that?”
Mick nodded. “Yeah, she is. So, your first big gig at the restaurant and the whole team will be there. Make you nervous?”
Flynn laughed. “Not really. I think the restaurant can handle it. And I’m grateful Irvin is giving the restaurant some business.”
“I’ll definitely let Tara know about the party being at your place. She’ll be excited, since she’s wanted to eat at Ninety-Two ever since she heard you were opening it.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see her.”
Flynn knew that Mick and Tara made their off-season home in St. Louis, where the entire Riley clan lived. Mick also had a place here in San Francisco and Tara often came and stayed during the season, since she owned an event planning business here, along with another office in St. Louis.
Lots of juggling there, as well as their four-year-old son, Sam, and another son in college.
He didn’t know how they managed. Family support, he supposed. The Rileys were a big clan, so he knew they all pitched in and helped rally around Tara and Mick and their kids.
He stripped down and headed to the shower, letting the hot steam rain down over him. Damn, that felt good. As he lost himself under the water, he thought about family.
Yeah, he knew all about family support. The Cassidys were a big family, too. And with Flynn, Barrett and Grant all playing pro football, plus Tucker playing pro baseball, it was one crazy sports-minded family. He had their dad, Easton, to thank for the guys’ love of sports. Their younger sister, Mia, was the only one to escape the sports bug. She was the brains of the family.
He smiled thinking about his sister. He hadn’t talked to her in a while. He needed to give her a call and check up on her. As the oldest sibling, he often felt like it was his responsibility to look after the others. Rowdy bunch, all of them.
“Orders up.”
Pulling her focus away from Flynn, she put her attention on the incoming orders, on directing her staff, on minding her own business, and not on Flynn’s girlfriend who was currently preening for the cameras as if she was auditioning for the next blockbuster movie.
With an eye roll, she dismissed the woman and set about making scallops.
Because Flynn Cassidy was decidedly not her problem. And no matter how sorry she felt for him, she wasn’t going to get involved in his personal life.
TWO
Flynn showed up for practice early, just like he always did. He liked to get a run in to warm up before hitting the weight room. After logging his three miles, he made his way to the weight room. As usual, he wasn’t the first one in there. His defensive teammates—the guys he counted on—were up and at it early today, too.
He spotted Junior Malone, Alfonso Labelle, Hank “Hey Man” Henderson and Chris Smith. These guys were his rocks, the ones he depended on to be at the line of scrimmage with him and prevent the offense from moving forward. He’d worked with most of these guys ever since the San Francisco Sabers had drafted him. The only one to join the team after him had been Junior Malone, but he’d been a perfect fit to the line. They were fierce, ass-kicking defenders, and the reason the Sabers had one of their best years defensively last year. They were clicking on all cylinders and even though they were only five games into the season so far, their numbers were solid.
“You’re late,” Hey Man said.
Flynn laid his towel on the bench. “I’m the only one out there running three miles before workouts. You’re all welcome to join me if you want to burn some of that fat off.”
Hey Man looked down at his stomach. “This is all muscle, man.”
Flynn let out a snort. “It looks a lot more like too much fried chicken.”
Hey Man glared at him. “Don’t mess with my fried chicken. You know it’s my weakness.”
“We all know what your weakness is, Hey Man,” Chris said. “Food. All of it.”
Flynn grinned, then lay on his back and started light with the bench press. Soon enough, he added more weight and the trainers had showed up to spot him. There was nothing like a pounding, sweat-pouring workout to get the blood pumping and prepare him for practice.
He finished off with an energy drink, jawing with the rest of the guys, then they headed out to the field where Mick Riley, the Sabers quarterback, was leading the offense in practice drills.
Since they weren’t ready for the defense to come in yet, Flynn took a minute to watch the offense play. Defense could keep the opposing team from putting points up on the board, which was key. But if your offense failed to score, your team was sunk. Mick had been leading the Sabers offense for ten years now. He’d won two championships and didn’t appear to be slowing down any time soon. At thirty-five, the man looked to be in the prime of his life, which was unusual for a quarterback.
Still, when it was time for the defense to take the field, Flynn had to take a shot at him.
“How’s it going, old man?” Flynn asked.
“Hey, fuck off, Cassidy.”
Flynn took his position with a grin at Mick.
“You know if you give shit to my quarterback, I’ll lay you flat.” Oscar Taylor, the left offensive guard, joined the fray.
Flynn crouched down in front of him. “You could try, Oscar, but you know I’m just going to run right past you.”
Oscar growled. “We’ll see about that, Flynn.”
Flynn grinned. Shit talking was a normal part of practice. It got them fired up and ready to play. So when the ball was snapped, he and Oscar went at it, though not as fiercely as they would in a game situation. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt someone on your own team.
Practice lasted two hours. After general drills, they worked with their position coaches and went over plays for this Sunday’s game against Detroit. When they were finished he and Mick headed back to the locker room together.
“How’s the new restaurant?” Mick asked.
As was typical, all the trash talk ended once practice was over. “It’s good, thanks. You and Tara should come for dinner.”
“Yeah, she asked me about it the other day. She’s eager to try it out. But it’ll be a couple of weeks before she can fly out here.”
As they walked down the long hallway toward the locker room, Flynn turned to him. “Well, actually, Irvin’s assistant has booked the team party at the restaurant two weeks from now. Is Tara coming for that?”
Mick nodded. “Yeah, she is. So, your first big gig at the restaurant and the whole team will be there. Make you nervous?”
Flynn laughed. “Not really. I think the restaurant can handle it. And I’m grateful Irvin is giving the restaurant some business.”
“I’ll definitely let Tara know about the party being at your place. She’ll be excited, since she’s wanted to eat at Ninety-Two ever since she heard you were opening it.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see her.”
Flynn knew that Mick and Tara made their off-season home in St. Louis, where the entire Riley clan lived. Mick also had a place here in San Francisco and Tara often came and stayed during the season, since she owned an event planning business here, along with another office in St. Louis.
Lots of juggling there, as well as their four-year-old son, Sam, and another son in college.
He didn’t know how they managed. Family support, he supposed. The Rileys were a big clan, so he knew they all pitched in and helped rally around Tara and Mick and their kids.
He stripped down and headed to the shower, letting the hot steam rain down over him. Damn, that felt good. As he lost himself under the water, he thought about family.
Yeah, he knew all about family support. The Cassidys were a big family, too. And with Flynn, Barrett and Grant all playing pro football, plus Tucker playing pro baseball, it was one crazy sports-minded family. He had their dad, Easton, to thank for the guys’ love of sports. Their younger sister, Mia, was the only one to escape the sports bug. She was the brains of the family.
He smiled thinking about his sister. He hadn’t talked to her in a while. He needed to give her a call and check up on her. As the oldest sibling, he often felt like it was his responsibility to look after the others. Rowdy bunch, all of them.
