Page 28 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

TWENTY-EIGHT

SUTTON

"Hey, sorry it didn't work out tonight."

"Is Stricker really that funny?" he asks, his voice laced with jealousy, and for some reason, I like it.

"He is. Maybe you should give him a chance."

"Has he been crying on your shoulder, trying to get the boss on his side?" he asks with a smidgen of venom.

I turn onto my side and put the speaker on low. "No, but I see you going to your brother for everything. You're cutting Matt off at the knees. He needs you... no, I need you to be a team player."

"I am a team player," he scoffs. "I ate with the defense tonight."

"You know what I'm saying. Your brother is the head coach and shouldn't have to be the QB coach too just because you don't want to take instruction from..."

"From someone who played two years in the league and whose only résumé builder is coaching Logan Warren in college? Damn right, I don't. I know how to play this game at the highest level, Sutton. "

I close my eyes, searching for words that will make him understand, and then I hit the video button. I'm not prepared for the bare chest and the charming smile that smack me in the face, but somehow, I keep my composure.

"Ten."

"Is that my nickname? 'Cause I'm a ten or because I wear the number ten?"

"You're a four... I say it because you wear the number," I tease.

He responds with a panty-melting smile. "Right."

"When I played professional tennis, I still needed a coach.

I had three coaches: a hitting coach, a strength coach, and a coach who was all-encompassing.

The last is J.D.; Barry is your strength coach; and Matt is your quarterback coach.

Why wouldn't you want to ingratiate yourself with Matt?

He's dedicated to three people on the team and, most importantly, to you. "

Greyson gets quiet, and I have to say, "Are you asleep?"

He lets out a long exhale and says, "No, but I feel like I know and have experienced more than he has. My QB coach in Denver made it to three Super Bowls even though he never won. He had credibility."

"Stricker won a Super Bowl with the Heavyweights and an NCAA Championship with Kentucky."

"As a coach, not a player."

"So, he's a better coach than he was a player.

He's a nice guy and has more going on in his life than you know, because you won't give him more than is required.

He's a great guy," I say as I reach for the folder full of data on the nightstand.

Sometimes, this general manager gig seems more about stroking egos than it is about spreadsheets and financials .

"I just don't like to see other men make you laugh. That's my job."

I admit I like the thought of Greyson wanting to be the one who makes me smile. "Well, now I know how to get under your skin."

"You buried yourself under my skin the night I met you in Denver," he says with a slight crackle to his voice. "If I say I'll start talking to him and listening, will that make you happy?"

"Yes, it will. To build trust between a coach and a player, you need to communicate. It's okay if you disagree; just tell him and see what he says. Just give him a chance. It's your first year here and his."

I don't tell Greyson why he left the Heavyweights for Austin. Believe me, I want to, but HIPAA laws prevent me from sharing. But if Greyson gives him a chance, I'm positive Coach Stricker will share.

"Okay, can we talk about sex toys now?" he asks, disarming me with a dashing grin as a belly laugh rumbles out of me. "Good. Stricker isn't the only one who can make you laugh."

"You are funny sometimes."

"Has Sutton Anders ever used a vibrator?"

I feel heat creeping up my neck as I answer, "No."

"Will you let me use one on you? I promise it will feel good when I'm buried inside you and lay the vibrator on your nipples or on the place that gets you off more than anything."

I'm a woman, but I have never been so open about sex with anyone, not even Anna. I put my hands over my face, and it feels hotter than the Vegas Strip. "I'm going to bed on that note."

"Is that a yes? "

"It's a maybe. Night, Ten."

"Night, Boss."

I wish I could reach through the phone and kiss him good night, but it's a good thing I was unable to sneak into his room. I've been meaning to have a conversation about Coach Stricker, but I wouldn't have if I were in his room—I would be having too many orgasms to think about football.

The next day, nerves grab me by the legs as I enter the locker room, where the players and coaches are going through final instructions and J.D. says all the right things.

"Winners work, and you've put in the work. Let's show 'em we're tough like the shell of our mascot. If you were here last year, it's revenge time. If you weren't, today is the day you prove to yourself that you belong here on a championship-winning team."

Manifesting. I like it, and it's something I always do when I compete. Some have confusion written all over their faces, but everyone claps or lets out a "Hell yes."

"The GM wanted a chance to address the whole team, so if you will, make room for her," he says, and the green jerseys part.

J.D. helps me up onto a platform so everyone on the team can see me. "Thanks, Coach. Do you mind if I speak to the players alone, without the coaches?" I ask J.D.

He lifts a suspicious brow.

"I know this is unorthodox, but trust me, I'm not going to jeopardize that kick-ass motivational speech." My voice is light and airy as I attempt a joke.

The guys drop their heads, chuckling, and I get a glimpse of Greyson smiling from ear to ear. If I thought he was handsome outside of his pads—multiply that by ten—he's the epitome of the all-American man: rugged, handsome, determined, and charming.

J.D. says, "You do own the team." He gestures to the other coaches to follow him.

When they're out of earshot, I clear my throat.

"First, I do not own this team; my dad does.

I'm here to prove to myself and to him that I can run this team effectively and that I'm not just a washed-up former professional tennis player.

Some of you may be upset you were traded to this team, and I understand.

Change is hard. But today, we need to win this one for your coach.

Coach O'Ryan was one of the premier quarterbacks in the league, and after an injury, the Vegas Dice traded him to the Armadillos.

Two seasons later, he became a head coach. You know that practice facility?"

The players nod.

"Well, that facility was originally going to be named the J.D.

O'Ryan Football Facility. His foundation helped get it funded.

He had a bunch of kids there with him when the Dice broke ground.

And when he came back to the city he gave so much to, the owner had the nerve to name it after himself.

I promise you one thing: my dad has never put his name on a building.

His company isn't the Anders Company. You can't win in life if you're out for yourself.

You win when you help others achieve, and my dad placed his trust in me to help you achieve. "

Taking a deep breath and scanning the players' faces, I continue.

"It's the first game of the season, and we all have something to prove.

What is that for you? Whatever it is, unleash it.

Cozen and the offensive line are going to protect our quarterback.

The receivers and running backs are going to execute and score.

The defense will create turnovers and score a defensive touchdown.

Our special teams will give us favorable field position and kick field goals.

And our quarterback will put this team on his arm and carry us to victory.

Relationships are about trust, which has always been hard for me.

But I trust this team. I trust that you will win this one for Coach O'Ryan because, I promise you, he's been fighting for you in ways you don't know. "

I take a breath, and the players' focus is on me as I continue. "I've never been on a team, and you don't realize how lucky you are to have so many people care about your success. Thanks for listening. Now, what's a girl gotta do to get a little clap going?" I tease.

Greyson stands and starts the clap rolling throughout the locker room.

He helps me down, moves me to the center, and the guys form a circle around me.

"For the boss. For Coach. 'Dillos on three.

One. Two. Three. 'Dillos!" They pump their helmets in the air, each player tapping my shoulder as they follow their leader out of the tunnel, fired up and ready.

After having the trust discussion with Greyson last night, I've been thinking about how much it means to be able to trust. My dad trusts me to run this organization. I trust the team to prove him right. Now I hope Greyson trusts Stricker.

To stay inconspicuous, I blend in on the sideline.

After the Bodhi fiasco, I don't want to be easy to find.

I hang back, watching most of the game with my neck bent back.

The jumbotron shows the quarterbacks from both teams more than anyone else.

And there is nothing more beautiful than Greyson O'Ryan throwing a long touchdown pass, jumping into the air, celebrating with his teammates, and then removing his helmet and shaking out his sweaty hair.

With a beaming smile, Stricker comes over to congratulate him. Moving to a spot where I can see the interaction, I slide up next to Redham, who caught the pass, giving him kudos. I lean back a little and see that Greyson smiles, chatting with Stricker about our first win as a team.

Maybe Greyson listened.