Page 9 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)
Meet she hops right to it. “What’s your current PR on deadlifts?”
“Five-twenty average. PR, six hundred.”
She holds out her fist, and I tap it. “Respect.”
Station two is a dude who looks like he came from a fantasy draft war room. Probably has spreadsheets tattooed on his back.
“I’m Declan @thestatsguy.” He tosses the question out before I have a chance to say shit. “Who’s the most underrated blocker in the league right now?”
“Easy. Jordan ‘Brickhouse’ Menendez in Tampa. Guy eats D-linemen like Lunchables.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, not looking at me but making a note on his phone.
Next up, a woman in a floaty blouse, big glasses, and a journal. “I’m Dr. Jemma Leigh, TikTok therapist @TherapizeMe.”
“Oh boy.” I chuckle.
She doesn’t even smile; she hits me with, “Do you think football players suppress their emotions as a trauma response?”
“Only when we lose. Otherwise, we just cry in private like emotionally intelligent men.”
That gains me an almost smile.
Next up is a kid, like he must be ten. “I’m Grady Blake @LilGridderBlake.”
“That’s cool,” I say, pointing at his football-shaped mic.
“Thanks. I got it when I hit a million followers.”
“Dang, that’s more than our QB has.”
He grins. “I know.”
“You got a question for me, Grady Blake @LilGridderBlake?”
“What’s your favorite cartoon?”
I answer, “ Avatar: The Last Airbender. Don’t judge me.”
“That’s valid.”
The next stop is a woman with a stack of books, and her own little light sign that reads, “ The BookTok Queen – Lila Mae @SpinesAndScrimmages. ”
“Spines and Scrimmages,” I say as I sit.
“Lila.” She holds her hand out, and I shake it. “Ooo … firm grip.” She wags her brows.
“Gonna guess you like those kinds of books.” I chuckle.
“It’s sports romance or the Bible.” She winks.
“I got nothing, Lila Mae.” I laugh.
“Doesn’t much matter what you say when you look like that.”
“Thanks?”
The timer goes off, and I stand as she asks, “Which fictional hero do you relate to most?”
“Percy Jackson,” I call over my shoulder. “Half the time, I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m still giving it my all.”
Up next, a man in all-black, wearing gloves with three rings on each finger, and I mean all of them.
“Renzo Flynn, The Fashion Critic – @RenzoWearsBlack. Tell me, Griffon Skinner, on a scale from one to Met Gala, what is this outfit?”
“Uh … outdoor brunch funeral?”
“Tragic. But chic. We love it.”
Next, I sit opposite a chick behind a bright pink laptop, editing as she films. There’s already a GIF of me blinking.
“The Meme Queen – Camila T. @CamilaClips. If you were a meme, which would you be?”
“Um …” I think. But nothing comes to mind, so I blink.
She smirks. “Perfect.”
The next guy is wearing a pair of retro cleats and a retro Cardinals jersey.
“I’m Nate V with The Hardcore Historian. How does your current formation compare to the ’82 Knights under Coach Simms?”
What the hell? I laugh. “It’s a bold assumption that I know anything pre-2000.”
“Download my book,” he says, as if he’s annoyed.
“Will do, Nate, will do.”
The next girl is wearing carrot earrings. Not the weight of a diamond-type carat—the actual vegetable.
“I’m Holly Yu from The Nutritional Fanatic @WholeFoodsTouchdown on the Gram and TikTok.”
“Nice to meet you, Holly. Killer earrings.”
“Thanks.” She blushes then asks, “What are your thoughts on turmeric shots for muscle recovery?”
I grimace. “I’d rather tear my hamstring than taste that ever again.”
“DM me, and I’ll give you some recipes to help mask the taste.”
“Will do,” I flat-ass lie, ’cause fuck turmeric .
I pause when I take in the next influencer. He has a GoPro strapped to his chest and is literally wearing a tin foil hat.
“Maxie Zane, The Conspiracy Guy @MaxZaneUnfiltered on all socials. Is it true the NFL is coded with ancient Greek numerology?”
“Of course. But it’s deeper. It also involves the dates we play on turf under a crescent moon.”
“Interesting. Very interesting.”
It just keeps getting better …
I shake hands with a girl wearing a tee that reads, “ Influencer One, Avery Rose – @TheSweatEdit. Fitness, Wellness, and Athlete Training.”
Avery asks, “What’s your least favorite drill during practice?”
“Anything with cones. If cones show up, I know I’m about to puke.”
“That’s fair. Cones are evil.”
I look back and see Kolby with tin foil hat guy and fight back a laugh when I see he’s looking at him like, What the fuck is wrong with you?
“Hey, Skinner, I’m Tyler Knox from Gridiron Gossip .”
“Gossip, huh.” I rub my hands together. “You gonna spill some tea that will help me get under Philly’s skin?”
“That’s not how this works.” He smirks. “You’re holding the kettle, my man. So, between us, who’s got the worst game-day fit on the team?”
“You’re really trying to get me jumped in the locker room?”
“It’s for the fans. They deserve the tea.”
“Okay, I’ll just say … somebody here still wears cargo jogger shorts in the winter, with a blazer.”
“I heard that, Skinner!” Oz Hunt yells from somewhere behind me.
Knox laughs. “So I’m guessing you’re talking about Oz Hunt.”
I stand to move on. “I’ll never tell.”
Next is a chick with a tabletop full of snacks that looks damn good.
“Jasminne Vega from @SnackSzn. Be honest—how many protein bars do you eat a week?”
“I try to hit two hundred grams a day. The team fuels us with real food, but I’m not gonna lie—I get lazy at home. So, my answer: too many. I don’t even like most of them.”
“Tell me one you actually do like.”
“Detour, caramel and nuts.”
“Big fan of nuts. I’ll have to check it out.” She wags her brows.
I stand and count how many more chairs my ass has to be planted in. Ten. Fucking ten.
By the time I circle back to the bar, my brain is half-fried.
Lo slides me a cup. “You good?”
“I don’t know what just happened, but it was like double overtime exhausting.”
Kolby chuckles. “Man, I saw you with the conspiracy guy. You were fucking with him, weren’t you?”
“Trust me; someone got to him first—the damage was done.”
Boone strolls up, sipping from a bottle of water like he’s still cooling down from a sprint. “Which one of y’all said something about goat cheese and rage lifting?”
“That’d be me,” I admit. “She asked about deadlifts. I gave her the real answer.”
“Bro.” Hart laughs, clapping me on the back. “That therapist lady asked me if my helmet was a metaphor for emotional repression.”
I blink. “What’d you say?”
“I told her I only wear it to keep from catching Boone’s elbows to the temple.”
Kolby snorts. “The book chick asked me which romance trope I was. I panicked and said enemies-to-lovers. She said, ‘Classic make-athlete energy.’”
“My favorite was that kid, Grady, although I suspect he thinks I’m old as fuck,” I mutter. “I told him my favorite cartoon was Avatar , and he just nodded like he was doing charity.”
Boone looks around like he’s about to confess something big. “I told the makeup girl I’d wear eyeliner if it was waterproof and Knights colors.”
“Oh, you’re going viral.” Hart laughs.
“Already am.” Boone shrugs. “Camila said she clipped it. I’m gonna be a GIF.”
We all groan at once, and Kolby lifts his bottle. “To surviving influencer hell.”
We clink, laugh, and I sink into a stool like we just walked off the field, bruised egos, tight shirts, and all.
Game day’s nothing compared to this, and it’s only five o’clock.
All of the sudden, a loud as hell, “All right, team, listen up!” comes from behind.
I turn and see Mags holding a damn megaphone.
Coach Cohen just shakes his head while Ben, Mags’ father, gives her a high-five.
“You are a menace to society,” Iz yells out, laughing at Mags, who skips toward Iz, Lexington, and London.
“Hell of a turnout,” Coach says. “You pulled it off. Proud of you boys.”
Lucas Links grips his shoulder. “We’ve got press buzz already. Numbers are strong. Keep it up, and we’re gonna fill every seat we bought up so there’s a black and gold presence amongst the green.”
“Team bus will roll from the field at eight a.m. sharp,” Cohen adds. “Airport wheels up at nine thirty. Don’t be late.”
“See you all then,” Lucas says as he walks toward his wife, Tessa.
Across the brewery, the girls are packing up. Riley’s folding T-shirts like she’s nesting in merch, Lo’s doing inventory with a pencil behind her ear, and Izzy’s juggling a phone attached to a mobile charger, eyes glued to the screen.
“Okay, we need to leave by six a.m. sharp,” she says. “If we stop for snacks, someone other than me is paying. And we’re not playing ‘Who Packed It Best’ again. Everyone’s luggage goes in the back like a civilized group of adults.”
Lexi twirls a roll of Knights duct tape. “I call shotgun. I want to introduce you all to real music. Meaning, I’m not listening to T Swift the entire trip.”
Sydney raises an eyebrow from where she’s sweeping. “You realize we’re driving into a snow system, right?”
Kolby crosses his arms. “You know there’s a chartered flight, right? Climate controlled. Comes with snacks. Doesn’t require ice skates for tires.”
Boone grins. “You’re not seriously gonna drive five hours through a blizzard when you could be sipping hot chocolate at thirty thousand feet?”
Hart throws in, “I’ll give it ten miles before one of y’all ends up sideways in a snowbank.”
Izzy rolls her eyes. “We’ve got studded tires, emergency blankets, and?—”
“Iz’s weirdly obsessive survival kit. We’ll be fine,” Lo interrupts.
“I packed flares!” Iz calls out proudly.
“That’s somehow more concerning,” I mutter.
Lexi lifts her phone to take a selfie. “If we die, at least we’ll be cute.”
Sydney laughs. “This is what road trip rebel looks like: reckless optimism wrapped in black and gold fleece.”
I shake my head, amused, a little impressed, a touch jealous, and yeah, I have no idea how the hell Boone, Hart, and Grimes are not insisting they fly with the team … for safety reasons, of course.