Mr. Fiancé(154)

Duncan shakes his head again. "Nah. You guys got me as ready for the draft as I could have ever dreamed of. Especially you. So whatever happens today, I’m ready for it. And if Jacksonville doesn't bite, someone will. I know it."

We take a seat, and Joe Manfredi comes over with a bowl of popcorn. "Hey, Carrie. How are you doing?"

"Good, Joe. You?"

"I won't get nervous until tonight, maybe tomorrow. This first round, I'm just chillin' until your man here gets the call. Draft analysts are saying J-ville. Nice deal, wish I got to go there."

"We'll see," Duncan says, and the draft starts. It's as boring as it is nerve-racking, the first round. With up to fifteen minutes between picks, there's a lot of waiting around, but at the same time, nervousness fills me each time the League commissioner comes up to the front of the draft room on the television and makes any announcements.

The first player taken is a left tackle from Alabama, not unexpected, considering the state of the first couple of teams. Next are a couple of quarterbacks, linebackers, and an offensive tackle to round out the top six.

"You'll be hitting the board soon," Coach Thibs says, patting Duncan on the shoulder. He's actually relaxed. His talk earlier wasn't any sort of false confidence, and he's been talking with everyone about what he thinks about each pick as they come around. Pick number seven . . . eight . . .

"Jacksonville's up next," Coach Bainridge says, who joined us almost as if by magic. I hadn't even seen him come in, but then again, I've spent the past ten minutes chewing my fingernails and barely breathing, Duncan's arm around me and a bemused look on his face as he sees my nervousness.

Suddenly, two phones ring almost simultaneously, one by the League's shirt guy, and another on the conference call phone that's been set up on the table in front of our sofa. Everyone in the room stops, except for Coach Taylor, who hits the mute button on the TV before turning his eyes along with everyone else to Duncan.

"Well? Are you going to answer it?"

Duncan grins and nods, reaching out and hitting the pickup button. "Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Duncan Hart?"

"Yes, who's calling?"

I can't help it. I laugh at Duncan's casualness. He sounds like a little kid answering his home phone, not someone who's about to be drafted to a multimillion-dollar contract. Duncan gives me a smile and takes my hand, kissing the knuckles before going back to the phone.

"Hi, Duncan, I'm Gerry Lippincourt, General Manager of the Jacksonville Wildcats. Are you watching the draft?"

"Yes I am, sir. You guys are on the clock. Hope you use your pick wisely."

"We plan on it. I wanted to give you a heads up, and a last-minute chance to voice your opinion. We'd like to select you with our choice, if that's okay with you?"

"I'd be honored, sir."

"Do you have an agent, Duncan?"

"No, but if you have any paperwork you want to send over, fax it to the football team here at Western. I'll find an agent soon enough."

"Okay. We'll send over some documents in a minute. In the meantime, let's do the announcement."

The phone hangs up, and we watch as a Jacksonville representative walks up to the stage, handing a slip of paper to the Commissioner. He reads it, smiles, and turns to the microphones again. "And with the ninth pick, Jacksonville selects . . . Duncan Hart, of Western University."



Two days later, Duncan and I are in Jacksonville, where a member of the team's front office picks us up from the airport. Technically, Duncan has to still sign his contract, but he's already told everyone he's happy with Jacksonville's initial offer, and he's not going to worry about negotiations. "An extra half-million on the signing bonus isn't worth worrying about," he told me as we got on the plane. "I'd rather just focus on being a good player."

We get to Wildcats Stadium, although it's got some corporate sponsor name on it that makes no sense, and get out to go into the Wildcats offices. Duncan meets with the owner, the general manager, and the head coach, a rather laid-back, excited guy who sounds as much like a California surfer dude as a football coach.

"Duncan, we know there's a lot to wrap your head around, so since this visit's a couple of days, we were thinking that you'd like to meet some of your teammates. How about dinner with one of the ones who lives here in Jacksonville?" the coach says. "You and I can have our get together tomorrow, and you can meet your new offensive coordinator."

Duncan looks at me, and I nod. I'm feeling a bit of jet lag, and I don't know if the churning in my stomach is morning sickness or just the hectic pace of the day so far combined with the time zone change. "I'd like that. A little normalcy, you know?"