Job hunting sucked. It was even worse when you had no clue what you were into or what you were qualified to do. If Caleb had had his way, he’d never have to look for a job. He’d be playing in the NFL until he was 34 then retiring with sponsorships and endorsements to keep him afloat. He’d come back to the game a season later as a coach and be remembered as one of the few great players turned great coach. That plan, though, had died a violent death when he’d shattered his knee after colliding with a drunk driver late one night. “The hell you staring at,” he said glaring at the person across from him. Caleb had always been rude and entitled. It came with the life he lived, the one he was supposed to be living. He jostled the messenger bag across his body, fidgeting until it rested neatly against his side again. When he’d graduated from college, he’d expected to never have to go back, but here he was studying for test in a random cafe. The face that looked back at him was a familiar one, one that Caleb thought was firmly in his past. He groaned, an exasperated tone to his voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”