Rookie Moves
Tarrah Anders
Contents
Rookie Moves
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
The Quick Snap Novella Collection
Acknowledgments
Also By Tarrah Anders
About the Author
Rookie Moves
A Quick Snap Novella
By Tarrah Anders
ROOKIE MOVES, A Quick Snap Novella
Tarrah Anders | Tarrah Anders, LLC [email protected] |www.tarrahanders.com
COPYRIGHT © 2020– TARRAH ANDERS
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Formatting: Tarrah Anders, LLC
Cover Design: Kari March Designs
Published by: Lady Boss Press, Inc.
This book is for my husband, who makes me watch football during the fall and even though he will NEVER read this, for my son, who is a future player.
Prologue
Did Seattle pay a hefty dollar price for a troublemaker?
All signs point to the Rookie that Seattle picked up last year to be making quite the name for himself. More off the field than on. Grant Toolson was picked up straight out of his senior year at The University of Washington and it seems that maybe the team should have let him mature just a bit more before signing him.
Not only has the rookie been seen with numerous women, he also has a penchant for finding trouble. Each time spotted, Toolson has either mouthed off to the press, started a fight, or acted disorderly in public.
Did Seattle make the wrong move?
Chapter 1
Grant
Clink!
The iron doors slam behind me after I’m shoved into the small concrete space. There are benches along the sides and in the middle. People are scattered throughout the space, some asleep while others wide-awake and staring at me.
I see a long enough piece of the bench that I can lay out on against the right side of the wall and stumble towards it.
“Sleep it off, Toolson!” the guard tells me.
I see a few heads perk to attention at my last name, but in the haze that I’m in, I pay no attention. What’s the point? I don’t belong in here. Some of these guys are probably in here all the time.
I laugh to myself as I settle on the bench, put my arm over my eyes and let the silence of the space lull me to sleep.
Except it doesn’t. The smell in here is rancid, as if someone pissed their pants. I cautiously look down and I’m damn glad that it isn’t me. The rumbles of someone on the other side of the room snoring makes me question whether or not he’s human, and there’s a dude sitting on the shitter not even ten feet away shamelessly bearing down and dropping the kids off at the pool. This is pretty disgusting.
Fuck! I need to sleep this off, otherwise when I get out of here in the morning, I’ll still be a little drunk and I need to be in my prime shape to be at practice.
This isn’t my first time in the drunk tank, but it is my first time getting caught behind the wheel, and that sucks. Now I’ve got this mark on my driving record that won’t go away, and I know for a fact that it’s going to screw me. DUI’s are expensive and there’s no way of getting out of them.
“Hey, you!” Someone whisper shouts. “You’re the new football player, right?”
I know he’s talking to me, but I don’t want to interact with people right now. I’m in a shit mood, I’m surrounded by people that would likely have something shitty to say about the last game that we almost lost, and I just don’t have the brain space right now to deal.
“Hey, you too good to talk to us?” Someone else asks, a little louder.
To avoid confrontation, I push up and look around the room, almost falling over from the sudden movement.
“Yes you,” a heavy-set Mexican man with a handlebar mustache confirms with a nod and pointing directly at me.
I sit up and scratch my jaw, searching my brain for any reminder from our PR team for how to answer this question. I’ve been in trouble enough times, in my short professional football career that you would think that the words would come naturally for me.
Must be the alcohol.
“You’re that new Rook for the Seahawks, right? The one the team paid a crap-ton of money for?” the same man asks.
I nod my head.
“What? Cat got your tongue, speak up. Not so flashy now that you’re here behind bars with us, eh?”
“Naw, sorry man, I’m just, well not myself.”
“You get busted for driving in this condition?” he asks.
“I did.” I reply after clearing my throat.
The man shakes his head. “You gotta be smarter than that homey. I would think that you would have your own personal driver and shit. Isn’t that what all the celebrities do?”
“Man, I’m no celebrity. I’m just a ball player.”
“Who’s been in magazines, on TV, has his name on the back of jerseys in the gift shops, homey, you are a damn celebrity—whether you like it or not.”
I look at him and see the team’s emblem tatted on his left forearm.
“You a fan?” I ask angling my head toward him.
“I’ve been since even before you were born, kid.”
“Cool. Cool.” I nod, not really knowing what to say, but desperately wanting to not have to talk to this guy anymore.
“Hey! Quiet in there!” A guard sitting at a desk down the hallway shouts. “No fraternizing!”
“Better sleep it off homey, you guys got a game to win in a few days!” The man says before putting his head in his hands.
The space grows silent again, aside from the snores coming from the other detainees. I lay back down on the bench and place my arm back over my eyes as sleep takes me over.
“I can’t believe you got behind the wheel last night! Who even gave you back your keys?” Jake, my best friend and roommate asks from the driver’s seat.
“I don’t know. There was some ginger who was all eager to leave with me, I vaguely recall her handing them to me. But then there was a blonde and then I was being thrown in a cell.”
“You realize that you made the news, right? They got you being cuffed and put in the back of a cruiser. It was all over the news, man—not good. The team is going to be pissed,” he tells me. “Is there any clause in your contract talking about trouble and reputation?”
�
��Probably. I didn’t read through it, I just signed where I had to sign. Contracts bore the hell out of me, and I’d be damned if I read all that tiny print. I told my agent to give me a damn cliff notes version or have a hot woman reading it to me while stripping and I’ll pay attention.” I pick at a long stray blonde hair from my shoulder.
“Ah ha, evidence that there was a blonde.” I hold up the hair and Jake just shakes his head.
“Do you have time to soak up any of that alcohol in your stomach before you have to be at practice?” he asks.
“I can be a little late,” I shrug.
Chapter 2
Grant
I’m finishing up the last of my drills and feel like I’m going to pass out. I close up my stance to keep my hips closed and when the whistle is blown, I shuffle back and then move in the forty-five-degree break. Muscle memory comes in, even though I’m exhausted, and I repeat the drill another three times, before Coach tells us that we can hit the weight room.
I would rather hit the showers, drink a gallon of water, then hit my mattress. But rules are rules and I still need to show the team that I’m one of them. Regardless of my stats and my ego, I’m still a rookie and the other players don’t forget to remind me.
I fist my helmet and pull out my mouth guard before I pour Gatorade down my throat as I walk off the field.
“Hey Rook!” Will Montgomery hollers from twenty feet away, jogging in my direction.
“Sup, Will?”
“I hear you got yourself into some trouble last night?”
“Shit.” I shake my head.
“You better watch out, Coach is itching to bench you.” He says stepping into stride with me as we walk through the tunnel to the weight room.
“Man, it was an accident.”
“How is getting behind the while with a lick of alcohol in you an accident?”
“I know I made a mistake, trust me. I will likely have a ten grand price tag attached to that mistake.”
“You better review your contract, make sure that you’re good.” Will warns. “Next time, call someone and get a ride. Don’t do stupid shit that you could just avoid.”
He walks ahead of me into the weight room and moves through to the lockers. I toss my gear down next to my locker and turn as I put on my hand grips.
“Hey Rook, you need to better your stance out there. I caught ya stepping in the bucket.” Kip Sutherland yells from one of the weight machines.
Stepping in the bucket means that I wasn’t able to properly explode out, giving the receiver the opportunity to separate from me. I rack my brain and don’t recall that happening, and nothing is coming to mind. Then again, the whole practice has been a fog.
I don’t acknowledge Sutherland, which seems to piss him off a little.
“Yo Rook! You hear me?” He hollers getting everyone’s attention.
“Yeah, I hear you.” I grumble.
“Aw, who pissed in your cereal today? Oh, that’s right, Seattle PD, right?” he laughs.
“What? Got bored with the ladies, and decided that you needed to drop the soap on the rope?”
“At least I’m liked, I haven’t seen you with a chick since I joined up.” I reply.
“That’s because, I know how to keep my business private. You probably should look into doing that if you want to keep employed.”
“Fellas, fellas. Can we just get our workout on and quick talking about Toolson? You’re talking about him like you got a crush on him.” Montgomery chimes in with a laugh, sitting down beside me on a weight bench. He stretches his arms, then lays back and plants his feet on the ground before lifting the bar.
“But it’s easy to talk about him, he gives us enough ammo to make it a hot topic.” Sutherland adds.
“I see you watching me in the showers, you don’t have to hide that you’re in love with me. Montgomery is right, isn’t he?” I taunt him.
“You wish.”
“You don’t need to hide it, old man.” I curl the weight in my hand. “I’ll let you look as much as you want, I’m not shy.”
A few snickers break out around the space and I keep my face straight, waiting for a response.
Instead, the weight room door opens and closes, all men in the room are silent, aside from grunts and the sound of the machines moving. I switch arms and lift in bursts as I hear sneakers move around. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the defensive coach with a clipboard. He’s observing us and notating something on his board as he walks through silently until he leaves out the same door he came in through.
“The fuck was that?” someone asks.
“I think he was making sure that we’re all still in here. I mean he looked at everyone.” Sutherland says.
“That’s never happened before, what the hell, as if we don’t know the rules? Practice, weights and then video. We ain’t no damn rookies, well maybe this guy is.” Montgomery jokes hitching his thumb towards me as the room chuckles.
“Hey Rook! Maybe you should work on your snap. I call it the bend and snap.” Conners stands and performs a bend at the waist.
“Are you kidding me? I know you have a thing for Reese Witherspoon, I get it, she’s a freaking MILF, but I don’t think her way of getting a guys attention is going to help me with my game.”
I’m slapped on the back of the head. “He’s fucking with you, Rook.” Montgomery leans in and whispers.
I stand up and grab a weightless bar and start doing some speed squats. After the twentieth rep, I stretch and return to the weight bench to do some flutter kicks.
Everything that I do is in quick bursts. While I’m fast, I want to be faster, there is no excuse for slacking and if what Sutherland said earlier is true, that I was stepping in the bucket, I can’t let that happen. I need to hold onto my position and keep my hips narrow.
The rest of the workout continues with less mocking of me, then we’re all in the game room watching tapes for Sunday’s game. We break out between offensive and defensive lines and study more with our coaches.
After what feels like the longest day ever, I’m showered and back in my truck heading home.
Fuck. I powered through with a hangover and managed to not get yelled at by the coaches.
I may not get in trouble for last night’s mistake.
Chapter 3
Grant
The stadium is still screaming in excitement over todays win. We can feel the thunder from the movement of the fans as we walk through the tunnel to take our showers. The energy is palpable between all the players and I’m feeling damn proud to be playing for this amazing team.
A team that I’ve looked up to since the moment I learned how to throw a ball. I got lucky to be drafted into the big leagues my senior year of college and there was no question as to whether or not I would leave the university and join them. And here I am, halfway through the season, we’ve won more than we’ve lost by a landslide and I’m so confident that we could make it through the playoffs.
Hell, I will make it happen.
“Hey, Conners! Celebrate at State Bar?” I ask walking past one of the guys that I typically hang out with.
“Yeah, I’m down,” he responds. “Meet you there?”
“Sweet. I’m going to take the truck home, and Uber over. No more repeats of earlier this week.”
“Good call, Rook. Good call.” He nods.
I change into something casual from my game day attire and by the time I’m at the State Bar, I see Conners sitting with a pretty blonde and her friend, who is a brunette. Damn, I’m not into brunettes. Conners spots me as I’m lumbering toward him with a nod of his head.
“Oh my God. You’re the new player, right? Tools or something like that?” The blonde asks. She’s cute but looks too young. I look over to the brunette beside me, and she’s attractive, even for being a brunette. She’s got a nice rack and pouty lips. I can work with that.
“Yeah, Grant Toolson, pleased to meet you ladies.” I flash them a smile and flex my arm a little as I
slide into the booth.
The brunette offers me her hand. “Hi, I’m Grace. This is Daphne.”
“I can’t believe that we’re sitting here with you guys! This. Is. So. Cool!” Daphne expels in your typical fan excitement.
Alright, she’s annoying me already and I’ve barely been here for a minute.
I look over at Conners who looks like he’s already had a few drinks. Well shit, looks like I need to catch up, maybe I can better tolerate these chicks.
Two beers and four shots later, both of these chicks are awesome! I might even take the brunette home with me tonight.
“You going to eat that?” Conners asks me pointing at my chicken wing.
“Don’t touch my food, you know I’m not into sharing. What’s mine is mine!” I growl.
“Hey! You guy’s play for the Seahawks, yeah?” A beefed up frat-bro asks us stepping up to our table. He has two of his friends behind him, and they all look like they’ve taken one too many steroids.
“Yeah, I’m Erik Conners and this here is Grant Toolson.” Conners holds out is hand for a friendly shake, but the beefy frat guy just stares at it in disgust.
“You know that last touchdown was stolen from LA, right? You guy’s buy the refs or what?”
Conners pulls back his hand slowly. “I’m sorry what?” he asks.
“That last play, that put you guys in the end zone, that was ours. If the ref didn’t call it a penalty, like it was, it would have been our cake and we would have won the game.” He growls looking between us.
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