Page 1 of Offsides Attraction

Chapter 1

“The problem is, you’re not likable,” Coach Sam Shockley said. Shockley, the Tetons’ offensive coordinator, sat on the edge of his desk and leaned toward Bash Vetter as if he worried that Bash might break down and need a hug.

“Pardon?” Bash said.

“That,”—Coach pointed at him—“that right there is the reason they don’t like you.”

“I’m not sure how asking you to clarify your statement that I’m not likable proves your point,” Bash said, crossing his arms as Sam raised his eyebrows. “And I’m not sure how being likable affects the line not protecting me.”

“People do a better job of protecting others if they like them.”

“But that’s their job. To protect me and hold the line. This isn’t middle school, coach, it’s the NFL.”

“Yes, but you can’t do your job if they won’t do theirs. And there’s no way you can tell me you’re happy with your performance on the field.”

Bash frowned and looked out the window. Sam had a decent view of the Cascade Mountains in the distance. It wasn’t the skyscrapers of New York City, but it wasn’t bad. His office, like most of the facility, still had that new-construction smell, unlike the training center, which smelled like abandoned sweaty socks.

Bash knew he was a better player than what they’d seen during training camp. He’d played backup with various teams over his nine years in the league and he’d earned the right to start. Coach Shockley had been the Tetons’ starting quarterback for the last three seasons, but he’d traded his cleats for a whistle when he reunited with this family.

As teammates last year, he’d prepped Bash on what to expect as the starting QB, how to handle the increased publicity and the press. Not once had he mentioned team building and bonding, something other people did so easily, but Bash struggled with it. He hated it and he didn’t see the point.

“I’m not, but I don’t see what likability has to do with it. If you’ve got a job to do, you do it. You don’t need to like the people around you. It’s called being an adult.”

“No, Bash, it’s called being a team. Like it or not, since you’re the man with the ball, you’re considered a leader of the team. People follow who they like, and right now they don’t like you.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I suggest you figure it out, otherwise you’ll spend most of your time on your back looking at the sky with a sweaty human tank on top of you.”

“Do you have any specific suggestions?” Vague directions wouldn’t help.

“Stop saying pardon and tone down your vocabulary. While everyone has a college degree, not everyone went to class, if you catch my drift.” Bash did, and he suspected a few universities had shortchanged his teammates on their education. He didn’t think his left tackle had more than a sixth-grade reading level.

“I can do that. What else?” He knew if he kept asking, Sam would give him the answers. Then all Bash needed to do was study the list, implement the easier ones, and see how things went before digging into the harder ones.

“Show some empathy.” Bash swore under his breath and Sam laughed at his distress.

“What else?”

“Be patient. I know you’ve picked up on the new plays and calls, but not everyone is a genius. Give them some time.” Empathy and patience, Bash almost growled. “Once everyone has the big picture, then we can drill down to the details.”

“What else?” Bash asked, squeezing the words past his clenched jaw.

“You could try”—Sam’s phone beeped, and he looked at it—“hey, I gotta run. Ruthie has a checkup.” Sam tossed his laptop and the notebooks on his desk into a bag.

“Sam, I need something more concrete than dumbing down my words. Empathy and patience aren’t my strong suits. You know that.” Bash hated begging, but Sam couldn’t leave him hanging with only those paltry instructions and the charge of fixing their ineffective line. Sam patted him on the shoulder as he sprinted to the door.

“Bash, you’re a smart guy, but a list of items you can check off won’t help. You need to dig deeper. Use your people skills. Connect with people.”

Damn, we’re screwed.

“Cal, catch,” Bash said, tossing his roommate and landlord’s son a bottle as he walked into their rental house. The bottle bounced off Cal’s chest, but he caught it.

“You brought me allergy medicine?”

“You said you were almost out. I was at the store, so I picked it up.”

“Thanks,” Cal said, popping two of the pills. “I feel better already.” The rookie grinned.