Page 6 of Mr. Irrelevant (Rock City Renegades #1)

FIVE

MADDOX

I’ve been speechless a handful of times in my life—but never quite the way I was three minutes ago when Olivia Grant, the five-foot-nothing daughter of my team’s owner, threw an absolute dot at the uprights from damn near half field. That was a first for me.

I’ll admit I got offended when she listed the problems in my passing technique like she was reading off a grocery list, which is why I momentarily went on the defense.

It was fucked up of me to assume she didn’t understand the game or my position, and that she was fed those lines from someone else, when she clearly wasn’t.

My saint of a single mother who raised me to know better would kick my ass if she were here right now.

“Before I tell you what I’m thinking, I need you to know that I won’t tolerate being treated as less simply because I’m a woman.

I live and breathe for the game of football, and I’ve spent my entire life learning everything there is to know.

If I were your size, I could make you cry on any given Sunday, without a doubt. So, when I speak, you listen. Got it?”

Damn. I’m kinda hard.

“Yes,” I reply confidently. I have no issues taking direction from her if it means that I don’t look like hot garbage on the field.

Now, if we were in the bedroom, it’d be a different story.

That’s one place I’ll never give up control.

But lucky for us, that’s not what this is—even if she’s hot as hell with her sassy attitude.

I don’t think I’ll have a problem keeping things professional, though.

This girl is as far off-limits as humanly possible.

Not only is she the owner’s daughter, but she’s also willing to give me tips that’ll hopefully get us some wins.

Because right now, I’m not being a very good leader.

“Alright,” she says with a tight nod. “Let’s get started.

” I watch as she runs toward the end zone, bends down to retrieve the ball, and throws it back with perfect form.

It hits my hands with a thump, making me shake my head again, because what the fuck .

Aside from the fact that she’s a woman—which we’ve established is a non-issue— she’s a tiny little thing.

She can’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, yet there’s enough power in her pass to make my hands sting even after I’ve made the catch.

I scrunch my nose. “I feel like you’re coming for my job.”

She jogs the rest of the way, stopping a few steps in front of me before a wistful look blooms across her face.

“I wish. I’ve considered women’s leagues, but even there, I’d be small.

Plus, Ohio doesn’t have one, and I love it too much to leave.

” I can definitely understand that. I haven’t been here long enough to experience the lake effect snow I’ve heard so much about, but otherwise, Cleveland seems great.

I know from my internet search that she’s an Ohio State alumna, so she really isn’t lying by saying she loves it.

“Maybe you could show me around sometime,” I reply, immediately wanting to take it back.

She didn’t ask me to hang out or be friends.

She brought me here because she obviously thinks I’m a dumpster fire who needs her help to become a starting quarterback.

She’s not completely wrong. While I know I’m capable of playing at a professional level, there’s something that’s been plaguing me for the past two games.

I’ve watched tape and just can’t seem to pinpoint it, but maybe Livvy can.

Which is why it’s probably better if we keep our interactions limited to the field.

Her shoulders slump, and she pulls her lips to the side in contemplation.

“I’d love to,” she replies with a half-smile, but it fades quickly as reality settles in.

“But we really have to keep this thing between us a secret. Nobody can see us together in public, and my dad absolutely can’t know I’m helping you.

I’m supposed to be next in line to take over the team, which means business stuff only.

Any dreams I had of coaching went out the window the day he bought the Renegades. ”

My brows pull in. “You wanted to coach?”

She hesitates, as if she doesn’t know how much to tell me, before finally blowing out a slow breath.

“Since I can remember,” she says quietly.

“My dad coached high school teams before I was even born, so I guess you could say it’s in my blood.

I used to watch from the sidelines, occasionally mimicking him by stomping around with my little clipboard, until one day, I started asking questions.

He always answered them, and where any other kid my age would’ve gotten bored and moved on, I wanted to know more.

” She shrugs. “I’m grateful for every opportunity I’m about to be given when it’s my turn to run the franchise, but I suppose I’ll always be that little girl with the pigtails and knobby knees who had a different kind of dream. ”

Maybe it makes me a pushover, but seeing the longing in her eyes as she tells me about her childhood aspirations makes me want to shove down all the defensiveness I was feeling moments ago.

“Well, you have a clean slate with me,” I say.

“I trust you, Livvy. I’m ready for you to turn me into the kind of quarterback Cleveland needs. ”

A confident look passes over her face as she raises her chin.

“Okay then,” she says with a nod. “Let’s get to work.

I think the easiest thing to fix would be the way you tuck the ball under your wrist before you throw.

It’s very subtle, which I’m sure is why your quarterbacks coach hasn’t addressed it.

But I think it’s taking a substantial amount of distance off your passes.

” She steps up next to me, extending the football in one hand.

I take it from her, letting my fingers run along the laces until they settle between them, gripping onto the textured cowhide and feeling an instant sense of calm.

It’s been that way as long as I can remember—as long as I have a ball in my hand, I’m home.

“Okay, put it right between the uprights,” she instructs.

I put my arms out, mimicking the way I’d be standing if I were under center before rolling back and making the pass.

I immediately notice the way my hand rotates under, causing my wrist to overextend as I release.

It’s not a far distance, and the target area I’m aiming for is wide, but I definitely see where I’m losing power, and even some accuracy.

“I felt it,” I tell her. She smiles, giving me a tight nod before she takes off to retrieve the ball.

I use the opportunity to watch, unabashedly, taking in her gorgeous curves and long, blonde hair as it blows in the breeze.

I definitely shouldn’t be creeping on her this way, considering she just made it very clear that this is a mutually beneficial business arrangement, but I’m not a stupid man.

I know a ten when I see one—and she’s a goddamn eleven.

The fact that she knows as much as she does about football is just the icing on the cake.

She bends over, lifting the ball from the bottom of the hill that sits behind the end zone, jogging back before offering it to me again.

I take it, but instead of letting go and stepping back like last time, she gets closer, settling behind my shoulder and covering my hand with hers.

I’m sure it looks ridiculous from the outside, since I’m almost a foot taller than she is, but my body goes hot all over as she presses against my back, slowly guiding my hand toward my ear.

“Try to keep your wrist like this,” she says quietly.

“Nice and straight, all the way through the release.” A shiver works its way up my body, and I do everything to suppress it so she doesn’t notice, but it’s futile with how close she is.

I’m grateful when she doesn’t say anything, because while it is slightly chilly outside, there’s no way she can’t feel the heat radiating off my skin, even through our thick sweatshirts.

“Got it,” I reply as she backs away, allowing the fog in my brain to dissipate so I can focus.

Like before, I fake the snap, paying special attention to my wrist and making sure it doesn’t bend as I bring it up, aiming for the middle of the uprights and launching the pass.

It sails through the air in a tight spiral, cutting the goalposts right in half before bouncing off the grassy hill with more power behind it than last time.

I huff an incredulous laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “Wow.”

“What?” she says, and I turn to find her with her arms crossed over her chest, hip popped, and a smug look on her face. “Surprised I actually knew what I was talking about?”

This girl .

In this moment, I make a promise to myself.

I’m not going to be like the other players she’s dealt with before.

She very clearly has a high football IQ, and I don’t have room to let my toxic masculinity keep me from soaking in every bit of advice she’s willing to offer.

I want Livvy Grant’s help so that together, we can give this city a renewed sense of hope when it comes to the Renegades.

“Nope,” I reply with a grin. “What’s next?”