Page 12 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Player

I snort. Sure he’s a football player in the NFL. And I’m Taylor Swift.

Okay, Mr. Quarterback. Which team?

He tells me. I stare at the screen. The team definitely sounds familiar.

And your name is...?

Calhoun Murphy.

I read it twice. Why does that sound familiar?

Ten minutes later, I’m still thinking about it. Not enough to stop working. But enough that I text the one person in my family who lives and breathes sports.

Quick question. Are you free?

Patrick answers before I’ve even locked my phone.

Depends.

Are you finally admitting football is superior to baseball?

Let’s not get crazy.

Is there a quarterback named Calhoun Murphy?

Please tell me you did NOT just ask who Calhoun is.

What if I did? Should I know him?

Nothing. Then my phone practically explodes. One message. Then another. Then five more. Finally, a link. Another link. A screenshot.

I frown.

Jo.

He’s literally one of the biggest quarterbacks in the league. Former MVP. Face of the franchise.

King of Resting Murder Face.

I laugh.

Resting Murder Face?

Watch one interview.

You’ll understand.

So I do during lunch.

With my sandwich. And absolutely no intention of falling down an internet rabbit hole. Thirty minutes later... I know far more about Calhoun than anyone probably should.

Every article, every post, every video says the same thing. Brilliant quarterback. Elite leader on the field. Impossible off the field.

“Cold.” “Difficult.” “Arrogant.” “Emotionally unavailable.” “One of the least personable stars in professional sports.”

I frown. That doesn’t sound right.

I click another video. A reporter shoves a microphone toward him. “Calhoun, what happened in the second half today?”