“Nope, there can only be one fisherman,” Carter replies. “Shoulda piped up sooner, bro.”
“I’m good with fire,” someone else offers.
“Bro, you own a Zippo. That doesn’t make you good with fire.”
“Hey, I own a Zippo. Which means I’m the only one of you asswipes who can create fire. That makes me god of the island.”
“I volunteer to die,” Samson says, and everyone bursts out laughing. He shrugs. “I hate being out in the sun for too long. What am I gonna do on an island?”
“There we go,” Carter says happily, pointing to my notepad again. “Anderson, put Samson on our death list.”
I do, but only because Carter won’t quit looking at me, all expectant like. Nobody seems to notice that neither Masters nor I contribute to this stupid discussion. Ty keeps watching me, though. I can tell he knows I don’t like where this has gone, but he doesn’t call me on it. He just says nothing, patiently listening to Travarius joke about how his Jamaican roots make him an ideal candidate for island life, listening to Carter decide that our running back should die because he has too many allergies, listening to Remy once again insist that his Zippo is a game-changer.
“Five minutes left,” Dr. D tells everyone.
We only have three names on our Lives list: Carter, Travarius, and Remy’s Zippo. The others argue about it some more, until finally Ty seems to have had enough. He snatches the pad and pen out of my hand, bends his head, and begins scribbling.
“What are you doing?” Carter demands. “We only have two more to fill in.”
“We’re not killing off our fucking teammates,” Ty growls as he begins to rip the first page into squares and fold them up. Each square has one of our names on it, I realize. He shuffles the folded up papers around in his hand, drops them on the grass, and then proceeds to pick up five at random.
“Samson, Ace, Zane, Remy, and Carter. Congratulations,” he says flatly. “You all survived the plane crash.”
Ty pulls me aside before I can board the bus. Our morning of disastrous teambuilding has finally come to an end, and although most of the other guys seem to be in good humor, I feel strangely disheartened about everything. Ty, however, simply looks disappointed.
“You’re his quarterback,” he tells me, his tone firm.
“Who?” I ask in confusion.
“Carter.” He nods toward the bus.
I glance at the door that Carter just sauntered through. Through the tinted window, I can make out Carter sliding into the seat next to Zane.
“Yeah.” I frown. “So?”
“So you’re supposed to lead the offense, Ace. You direct the traffic. You tell those guys what to do. You should’ve spoken up during that last exercise. You wanted to do a random draw—you fucking knew that it was the only way to go, that everyone on this team is equal, no one person is better or more deserving than another.” He shakes his head. “But you let Carter waste all that time talking about who should die. You should’ve shut it down.”
I clench my fists to my sides. “You ever tried to shut that guy up? He does and says what he wants.”
“That’s his prerogative. But you’re still the leader of the offense,” Ty says bluntly. “You’re responsible for making sure these assholes listen to you. I lead this defense, don’t I?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice gruff.
“You ever see Daly or Walsh or any of the other guys treat me with anything other than respect?”
“No.”
“Exactly. Letting Carter run his mouth like that? That’s on you. Shut it down,” he repeats.
20
Ace
Renegades 7-0
“Hike.” Paddy Smythe, the center, smacks the ball into my hands. I flip it until the laces are aligned with my fingers. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zane blocking the defensive end. There’s a corner coming up the center seam to blitz, but Samson picks him up.
I glimpse a flicker of black down the field. Carter is pulling away from the cornerback. I fall back, swing my arm forward, and launch the ball.
A defender brushes by me. I sidestep him without taking my eyes off the ball as it falls perfectly into Carter's hands. He runs for ten more yards before the safety catches him. Three more plays and it's Julio in the corner of the end zone with a tiptoe ballerina catch.
“Nice job, Ace.” Coach gives me a thundering backslap as I come off the field.
On the sidelines, Julio comes up and goes through a complicated handshake with me. I don’t know how I get it right, but I do. The whole night carries on in the same strange, magical fashion. The team building practice had been a spectacular failure, but our play tonight is spectacular, period.
In the next series, I escape three tackles and scramble for a twenty-yard gain. We march down the field decisively, capping the eighty-yard march with a two-yard rush by the running back (and Zippo enthusiast), Remy Borland.
The whole game proceeds like this with one perfect, easy play after another. We shouldn't be winning like this over an in-state rival, but the football gods have kissed my hands. I can't throw an errant pass. No one fumbles the ball. Carter, Zane, and Julio are catching balls like their gloves have magnets.
The defense plays lights out as well. We end up beating our ranked division opponent 48 to 10.
After the game is over, everyone is full of joy. My ears ring with the cheers from our home crowd and the shouts of “good game” from my teammates. So many hands slap my back, I'll probably have bruises tomorrow. The smile on my face stretches from one ear to the other.
Coach walks in, a football tucked under his arm. Ty high-fives him. “Good call on the team-building exercise.”
The room roars with laughter. Everyone’s heard of the disaster back at Camp Hopeless, as we’ve taken to calling it. Somehow, despite that, we played lights out, as if the stupid camp actually worked instead of being an abysmal disaster.
“Y'all got to trust me,” he jokes back. “This all happened just how I drew it up.”
More laughter ensues. Coach waits until it dies down.
“Men, the reason you played so well today has nothing to do with me, or my crazy ass ideas. It has everything to do with the fact that today you decided to trust each other. This is why we have a team. Because not one man can go out and throw the ball, catch it, kick it, tackle on his own. Each and every one of you”—he points the football toward my chest and swings it around the circle of players—“is important and vital to the success of this organization. When you look to your left and to your right, these are men who have shared a unique and special experience with you. No one will be able to understand or relate to this except for these brothers.”
He walks over to Ty and places a hand on our captain’s shoulder. “As long as you stand strong with each other through the valleys, you’ll be able to celebrate together when you reach the mountaintop. Wins will come and go, just like losses, but these men here will be your brothers forever. Always remember that. I'm proud of you.” He raises his fist in the air. “Go Renegades!”
“Renegades forever!” the room screams back.
Ty takes the ball from Coach and walks it over to me. “Today’s game ball goes to none other than our amazing quarterback, Ace. Five touchdowns, three hundred and forty passing yards, one rushing touchdown and no interceptions. Anything to say for yourself?” The last bit is yelled over the hoots of my teammates.
“Yeah, why didn’t the defense score tonight?”
Ty grins, and we pound each other on the back. The entire team closes in on us until we’re buried under a pile of sweaty jerseys and muscle.
Someone, probably Samson, starts dragging players away until it’s just Ty and me on the floor. A trainer throws us each an energy drink. Ty leans back against Borland’s locker and pops his open.
“What're you and Bryant doing tonight?” he asks after a swallow.
“Not sure. She's very chill on game days.” It's different hearing our names linked to
gether, but I don’t mind it at all.
“Yeah, I bet. Having a girlfriend who understands the game has got to be nice.” Travarius drags a chair over.
“You got lady problems, Daly?” Ty asks.
“No, but I'm thinking that it's good to hook up with a girl when you're in college, before you get the pros. Because when you're in the pros you don't know if the girl’s with you because of the size your wallet or your personality.”
“With you, Travarius, it's always going to be a toss-up between the size of your wallet and the size of your dick.”
I choke on my Gatorade, but Ty isn’t wrong. The cornerback has a dick the size of a baseball bat.
“Hey now. Just because I got a big dick doesn't mean I don't got girl problems,” Travarius protests. “Some girls don't like the big dick. They talk a big game, but the moment you whip that sucker out of your pants, they're all ‘you're too big.’”
While I hide my snicker behind the back of my hand, Ty somehow manages to keep a straight face while observing, “So you're saying your dick is Papa Bear big, and you’re searching for the right Goldilocks vagina.”
“Pretty much.” Travarius nods eagerly at this ridiculous comparison. “And where else are you going to find as many chicks in one place? Nowhere. This place is like the Disneyland of vaginas.”
I have to look at the floor because I know if I see Ty’s face, I’m going to bust out laughing. Samson is choking on his spit, though. Travarius ignores this and keeps explaining, “We got all the different cultures, all the different body types, all the different personalities in about a four-mile radius. Once we leave here, we’re sunk.” He leans back in his chair and calls to Zane. “Bettman, when are you going to pop the question?”
Zane wanders over, shirtless with his pants unlaced, scratching his chest. “Mae's got her head full of med school applications. She can't concentrate on something else. If I ask her now, she’s going to blurt out some kind of science-y type answer, and I won’t be able to figure out if it’s a yes or a no. I’m waiting until she’s been accepted before I spring this on her. Besides, I don’t have enough cash for the ring. Her momma’s got one that’s so big, it should be a traffic light.”
“You can't wait too long to wife her or someone's going to snap her up,” Samson advises.
Zane scowls. “I don't see you all rushing to drop rings on your girls' fingers. What about you, Ty?”
Ty’s head jerks up from his phone. “What about me?”
“You have a girl that can tell you apart?” I ask. My old teammate, Knox, married his girlfriend within months of meeting her. He maintains that she was cosmic destiny since she could tell him apart from his identical twin, Ty.
“Ty doesn't believe in that shit,” Travarius declares.
Ty’s eyes shutter slightly. “My brother has his own ideas. I don't need a girl that can tell us apart. Look at Daly here. He's still my first love, and he couldn't tell my brother from me if we were wearing name tags.”
“You both feel the same in the dark,” Travarius concedes.
We laugh at this, but I can't help noticing Ty’s chuckle is a little forced. Sounds like maybe he does believe in that twin voodoo.
“I want a girl like Bryant,” Carter pipes up, taking the heat off of Ty.
My eyes swing toward my roommate in surprise. “Like you want Bryant or you want to girl like Bryant?”
He shrugs. “I'll take Bryant. I figure at some point, she's got to settle down with one of us. She loves football. No way she doesn't end up a player’s wife.”
There are a lot of nods around the room. My good humor and camaraderie dries up immediately. Do all these fuckers forget that she's dating me?
“Small problem there, buddy.” I glare at Carter. “She's currently got a boyfriend.” And the thought of any one of these guys laying a hand on her sweet curves have my hands fisting at my side.
“Yeah, but you're not really her boy—” he says, but cuts himself off when I start to push to my feet. “Well, yeah, I want a girl like Bryant,” he corrects.
Ty kicks me lightly in the calf. “You and Bryant should come to the Bounce House tonight. I think a bunch of us are headed there.”
I force myself to loosen up and not ruin the tiny bit of progress I’ve made, but damn if I don't feel territorial. “Sure, I’ll see if she’s up for it.”
I get to my feet and toss the empty Gatorade in the recycling bin. Fishing out a towel from the bottom of my locker, I finish undressing and then make my way to the showers.
Ty joins me. “Carter isn’t ever going to make a move on your girl,” he says.
“It’d be a bad idea if he did,” I reply, ducking under the tepid water. “We’d need a new wide receiver.”
“Maybe you, huh?”
It’s a pointed barb, but in the spirit of fucking team unity, I bite back a sharp retort and instead answer, “Yeah. Even though I could play every position on the field, I stick to the quarterback position because I don’t want to make the rest of the team feel bad about themselves.”
Ty snorts. “Don’t worry about Carter. He’s not that kind of guy. It’s just that most of the time, Bryant’s not serious about her guys. They’re…” he trails off.
I jerk my head out of the spray and glare at my teammate. My mood has gone from amenable to into the shitter in under two seconds. “They're what?”
Ty’s oblivious to my mounting anger. His eyes are closed as he tips his face toward the water. “They’re not serious, either.”
I finish up hurriedly so I don’t give in to the urge to pound Ty’s face into the tile until he takes back his words. Actually, what do I care about Bryant’s past men? I’m the one in her life now and no one’s taking my place.
When I shut the water off, Ty’s eyes pop open. “Hey, see you at the Bounce House.”
I hesitate before answering. Any other evening and I’d have blown the team off, but we just won a huge conference game after a disastrous team exercise. Skipping out on one of the few invitations that have been thrown my way is stupid as hell. “Yep. See you there.”
He gives me a thumbs up and goes back to his shower. I tie a towel around my waist. Back at my locker, I text Bryant.
Me: U still here?
Her: Yes. With daddy and alum. ::Rolls eyes::
Me: Wanna do something tonight
Her: Of course.
I stare at those two words as the tension from the locker room eases out of me. This isn't temporary for either of us. Bryant wouldn’t be so eager to spend time with me if all I was to her was work. She enjoys being with me, just as I enjoy being with her.
Me: The guys said they're hitting up Bounce House. U in?
Her: Luv BoHo. Meet you there?
Me: I'll pick u up
Her: It's only about 8 blocks.
Me: I'll pick u up
Her: :) KK
This thing with Bryant started off as frustrating, made a left turn into the hottest sex I've ever had, and is now careening toward an unfamiliar destination, but I’m not getting off the ride.
21
Ace
I went to the Bounce House this summer, right before fall camp began and practices intensified. Because only summer classes were in session, the place had been relatively empty.
Tonight, there’s not a square inch of space that isn’t occupied by a body. I can almost feel Bryant’s frame deflate as she takes in the crowded space.
“Let’s go.” I tuck a hand behind her back and try to turn her toward the exit.
“No. No,” she objects. “Your teammates are here.” She plasters on a fake smile, but I’m used to her now. I can tell the fake from the genuine. Tonight, she’s dead-ass tired.
“When did you get to the stadium this morning?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She wrinkles her nose. “Ten?”
Christ. I’d picked her up at seven, and she said she’d just gotten home. “I’m tired,” I say bluntly. “Let’s get something to eat and g
o back to my place. Since my roommates are here, we’ll have the place to ourselves. We can have sex on the kitchen table.”
Interest flickers in her eyes and then dies out as an overly excited voice yells out her name.
“Bryant. BRYAAANT!” A brunette Barbie wearing a glittery top and a barely-there mini bounces over to us, her pink lower lip is pushed out in an exaggerated pout. “I'm so glad you're here! Kent's being mean to me. You've got to talk to him.”
“No.” I transfer Bryant from one arm to the other, placing a barrier between this overeager puppy and my tired girl.
“Excuse me.” Barbie scowls. “I was talking to Bryant.” The girl peers around me to try to catch Bryant's eye. “Bryant, did you hear me? Kent's being rude, and I need you to go over and whip him into shape.”
Bryant starts to say something, probably “yes,” but I talk over both of them. “Nope. I'm hungry, and Bryant's going to sit with me while we eat.”
“Well, I never,” Skipper Barbie sputters.
“Chryselle, I'll come over later, okay? Let me get Ace settled first,” Bryant says.
Over my dead body. Bryant's not dealing with anyone else's problems tonight. The girl frowns petulantly. “Don't take too long. Kent's going to ruin my night.”
She stomps off like a five-year-old.
“Sorry about that,” Bryant apologizes.
“About what? Barbie acting like a toddler who isn't getting her own way? That's not your fault.”
Bryant’s lips tremble as she tries to suppress a laugh. “But you're hungry. Let's get you something to eat.”
I let her drag me toward the bar, because getting food into Bryant's body is my first objective. My second is getting my fingers, tongue, and cock into her body, but that can wait.
We don't make it but two more feet before a blonde cuts in front of us. “Bryant! I'm so glad you're here. I have a huge, huge favor to ask of you. My chem study is due on Monday, and I need to go to the lab tomorrow, but we’ve got those pies to make for the hospital charity.”
Downed (Gridiron #3) Page 18
