by Kim Karr
There was a red pen in his hand and he used it to demonstrate as he spoke. “If one guy, just one, misses a block or goes in the wrong direction, then the entire wall comes tumbling down. That’s what I’m going to change.”
Whether he knew it or not yet, the issue was the starting center. Walton was a three hundred and five pound rookie who needed some help. Execution wasn’t his problem. He could snap the ball to me like it was no one’s business. He just couldn’t call the plays to the line fast enough or loud enough.
That was for the Offensive Coordinator to work out, not me, but he hadn’t addressed it yet. I guess Coach must have noticed it though, or he wouldn’t be working on new strategies.
After walking me through several different eighteen-second plays, all meant to prevent me from getting crushed nose-deep in the turf, I had to admit I was thankful for the time he was taking to work on the situation. The days were proving to be pretty grueling.
When he looked up to tell me about another idea, his gaze went over my shoulder and he called out, “Gillian.”
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I wanted to get up and excuse myself before she came over. I wanted to run hard and fast. I wanted to—.
Just as I jerked my head around, I knocked over that second glass of juice I’d taken—all over the playbook. His playbook.
Yeah, me, the big tough guy was nervous. But come on, who wouldn’t be. The girl I was . . . screwing . . . for lack of a more politically correct way to put it, was being summoned over to the table I was sitting at . . . across from her father . . . who didn’t know about us . . . who also happened to be my coach.
So yeah, I was nervous.
Coach glared at me as I popped to my feet and started wiping up the mess with the few napkins I had on my tray. He didn’t help though. Instead he got to his feet and waved his daughter to sit beside him.
This wasn’t happening.
Why hadn’t I just stayed in bed?
“Hi, Dad,” she said as she circled the table.
“Sweetheart, I feel like I haven’t seen you in days. Where have you been hiding?” he asked.
“Oh, in Lucas’s pants,” I imagined her saying, and cringed even at the thought.
“You’re the one who hasn’t been around,” she answered, setting her tray down and giving him a quick hug. “Where have you been?” she asked. She was smart, I had to give her that.
Me, I was the dumbass wiping up the head coach’s playbook.
Coach actually looked a little sheepish. “Nowhere,” he said, and quickly directed his attention to me. “Let’s hope you didn’t ruin it,” he muttered.
With the most amused grin on her face, Gillian followed his gaze. “Lucas, are you okay there? Here, it looks like you could use some help,” she giggled, setting a wad of napkins from her own tray beside me, and taking one to assist.
Smooth, Gillian.
I would have glared at her, but then I’d have to explain to her father why I was being rude to his daughter, which would lead to a whole other conversation that was not going to take place.
When our hands touched, I tried to keep my face neutral. “I got it,” I replied, as I started to wipe even faster.
She and her father both sat as I shoved the soggy napkins onto my tray right beside what was left of my scrambled eggs, and then picked up a dry one to finish cleaning up.
“I think that should just about do it, Lucas,” Coach said to me.
Being dense was never a problem I had. I knew that was his way of dismissing me, but all of a sudden I wanted to stay. I picked it up. “I don’t think it’s ruined. It should dry fine. I’m really looking forward to executing those plays later,” I said, and then boldly sat back down, where I promptly started shoveling the cold eggs in my mouth.
The fierce look he gave me should have sent me packing, but I wasn’t going anywhere. His daughter had started something I was all too happy to help her finish.
Completely ignoring me, Coach turned in her direction. “Did you ever take your car in for that recall I told you I read on the manufacturer’s website?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, but I will. I just haven’t had time.”
He narrowed his gaze at her and started explaining the importance of whatever the issue was.
Now she was rolling her eyes.
I had to fight hard not to laugh.
Seeing them together put Coach in a different light. My father would never have taken the time to look up recall notices on my vehicle. Hell, he’d have to know what I was driving, which happened to be my brother’s hand-me-down Range Rover at the moment.
Yeah, I was still dirt poor. No money had been deposited in my account yet since I wasn’t officially on the team until camp was over and my contract was signed. If I wasn’t tossed out on my ass, that was.
Then the signing bonus would be all I would get.
While Coach and Gillian went back and forth about the car, the best thing I could have done was avoid looking at her. But since when did I ever do what was best? While her father talked to her about something or other, I stole a long glance across the table.
She really was beautiful, and not in that fake way, like the cheerleaders who seemed to be everywhere lately. Gillian had a natural beauty.
Today she wasn’t wearing athletic wear. Instead she wore a navy skirt that stopped just below her knees with a white Bears tank top. Her hair was upswept into a messy bun like she sometimes wore it, secured with a clip that I always undid whenever we were alone.
That would not be right now, I reminded myself.
Gillian was slight, even at five feet and ten inches, she still appeared small and fragile. It was her frame, her high, prominent cheekbones, her narrow hips, and her tiny breasts, that lent to that. But trust me, she was anything but.
She was fire and ice, and it really turned me on.
She really turned me on.
The hell of it was, this was so unlike me. In the past, I had never given a girl more than a single thought, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Nick said that’s what happened to him with Tess when I talked to him last night about her. He said watch out, bro, or before you know it you won’t be able to take the bull by the horns because they’ll have you. Whatever the hell that meant. Shit, was this what he meant. That being around her would turn me into mush.
The eggs stuck in my throat and I had nothing to wash them down with. I started coughing uncontrollably.
Coach glanced over me. “You okay, son?”
I nodded, pounding my chest.
“Here, drink this,” Gillian offered, handing me her half glass of juice. I took it and gulped it. “Thanks,” I said as I set the empty glass down. “I’ll grab you another one.”
She shook her head. “No thank you, I’m done.”
Shit, I’d sat across from them the entire time she’d eaten her breakfast and had no idea where the time went.
Was that what Nick meant?
That I’d get so lost in her, I’d lose track of time.
No, what he meant was that she’d own me.
The thought didn’t sit well.
It was really time for me to leave. I started to gather up my items just as Coach said, “Don’t you agree, Lucas?”
I blinked at him while he wrote something in the playbook that was still partially wet. I had no idea what the hell he’d even asked, but I nodded my head anyway. “Yes, Coach, I do.”
“You do?” He glanced up in surprise with the first grin I’d ever seen him crack, but then went back to writing his play with a shake of his head. For all I knew I could have just told him I wore girl’s underwear out on the field. Gillian started cracking up, and this time there was no way I could stop myself from narrowing my eyes at her. All she did in response was shrug.
This was about to get interesting.
Just then Thor walked by, and with Coach’s back to him, his mouth formed a silent O as he pretended to hightail it out
of there with animated arms, or maybe he really was.
“Hold up, Thor,” I stood and called out. “Sorry, I have to run,” I said to Coach, who just grunted back. I gave Strawberry Fields one last look, and fuck she was too much with that smirk on her face.
Thor slowed his pace.
“Gillian,” I said with a tip of my head having no idea how I should be saying goodbye to Coach’s daughter. I knew how I’d be saying goodbye to her if we were alone though, and that would be with a swat on the ass.
“Bye, Lucas,” she said with a small wave.
I wanted to kiss her right here in front of everyone, but in absolutely no universe, or galaxy for that matter, was that happening.
Football.
The scale would not be tipped. Absolutely could not be tipped. I was here for football, not fucking. Football. Football. Football.
Playing was my dream.
When I caught up with Thor, all he could do was stare at me. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
I walked faster, wanting to get outside, out of earshot of everyone. “It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. And keep it down, will you. People are around.”
“Fine, did you tell him about Walton?”
I sighed. “Not really.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“It didn’t feel right.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, and caught my pace.
Outside the sun was hot. It was going to be another scorcher. It hadn’t rained once since we got here. Christ, I was thinking about doing a rain dance just to shake up the gross humidity. A little mud sounded really good.
Thor sped up and started walking backwards in front of me. “Can I talk now?” he barked sarcastically.
The air was still a little cool, and I breathed it in. “Do I have a choice?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Look man, guy to guy, you’re getting in way too deep. Nothing but trouble is going to come out of what you’re doing, and you know that.”
Annoyed, I glared at him. “You’re seriously going to lecture me? Wasn’t it just last night that you called Rebecca, Honey? Good thing Rebecca thought you meant it in fondness because if she knew you were calling her by your other girlfriend’s name, you might have had one pissed off chick pounding at our door.”
It was no surprise that shut him up all the way to the training center, which, when we opened the door, was already jammed packed with players.
Mandatory treatment on all reported ailments and injuries looked like it was applying to practically the entire team. Since I had sustained an injury early on, I had to report in as well.
This was where Thor and I parted ways. He went his way, and I bid him luck again, and then I went to find Dallas.
This part of the day always worried me. Sure, the injury I had suffered was much better now. No lingering signs of shoulder trauma, but there was always the chance of a flair up, and since I was on the radar, I felt like Dallas was scrutinizing me during every exam.
Before my injury, I wanted to be anywhere but here. Now, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Gillian was a part of that, but only a small part. There was something else, a feeling of belonging that felt right.
I belonged here.
Not in the training center, but with the team.
This team.
After my exam, it was time to head over to the gym for an hour of weightlifting. Lifting weights was becoming more and more difficult. My body was feeling like it had been in a car accident, and between the long days and the long nights, I was incredibly worn out.
As torturous as this felt in the moment, once I got my body going, I could feel the benefits of the lifting session instantly.
Dallas had told me the weights were being used to refortify my body’s natural layers of protection.
Probably not far off the mark.
With lifting out of the way, it was off to the team meeting. I’d received a text that our schedule for today had changed—that we would be skipping position meetings, and instead we would be attending a team meeting.
I took a seat next to Thor. I already knew he’d passed his weigh in because he’d texted me, but still I was happy to see him. I punched him in the arm. “I told you not to worry.”
Full of himself, he said, “You only want me around to watch your back.”
“Whatever, dude.” I grinned.
Coach called for our attention and we all shut up. “Today is Fan Day. And for all of you ponytail swinging girls who haven’t figured it out yet, Fan Day has a completely different meaning than open to the public.”
All of us kept our mouths shut.
“Today,” he yelled from the podium, “you will be expected to take every single photo asked of you, sign every single autograph asked of you, and you will not leave the field until every single fan is satisfied. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Coach,” we all said in unison, like we were in the military. Hey, we were learning.
The rest of the meeting was spent with Coach instructing us how to interact properly with the fans and still have a decent practice. Practice first, he insisted, fans after. With each word he spoke, it became obvious the circus out there wasn’t something he looked forward to.
With the position meetings canceled, we were shuffling through the football field’s iron gates, flanked on either side by the cheerleaders, in record time.
Music was already blasting, the media was everywhere, and there were so many people I wasn’t sure where to look.
The sun was hot by now, and the humidity even hotter. And since it was Fan Day, today we were wearing full on gear—helmets and pads. We were also on the actual college football field, not the practice field.
The whistle blew and the clock started. We were on. Drills first, of course, and then another scrimmage.
During the first play of the game, Walton snapped the ball, and the line went in the completely wrong direction.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
The play wasn’t dead yet, but it was close to dying a quick death. The guys were scrambling when Thor grabbed Walton by the jersey and said something to him.
Walton looked at him like he was fucking crazy. I was seriously about to lose my shit and go over there and pound them both for not paying attention to the field.
Suddenly the whistle blew, and now the fucking play was dead.
Coach marched out on the field with a look of fury on his face. “What the fuck was that?” He was pointing at Thor.
“I was trying to help him out. No one can hear him. He needs to talk louder,” Thor responded. It was a bold move.
“You don’t correct him. I do. I watch the playback, and I correct him!”
“That’s not until tonight, and by then it’s too late.”
Coach stared at Thor.
He stared back.
Walton said absolutely nothing.
When Coach started to turn around, I had no idea why the hell I opened my Goddamn mouth, but I did. “He screwed up the whole play. He keeps screwing up the plays over and over. Someone has to do something.”
Coming to an immediate halt, Coach reeled around and stared right at me with the coldest eyes I’d ever seen. “I. Watch. The. Tape. And. I. Correct. Do. You. Understand. Me?”
Every word was said like I was a fucking idiot. I wanted to roll my eyes, but refrained. Still I said nothing further. He knew I was fucking right.
“Burns, you’re in. Carrington, you’re out,” he shouted to the sidelines.
Jeb Burns was Swann’s replacement. He was a cool guy, and extremely motivated, which had been keeping me on my toes. Then there was Harper, the third string who had finally been appointed. He was quarterbacking for the other team.
“Fuck,” I muttered and strode off the field pissed as hell. When I removed my helmet, I wanted to throw it, but I knew Coach was watching.
Two plays later, I was back on the field. I guess Coach just had to make a point. Whate
ver. What the fuck ever.
When the scrimmage finally ended, no one was in the mood to stick around, but we had to.
It was Fan Day.
And we got mobbed. Absolutely mobbed by kids, women, babies, guys, adults, senior citizens, and everyone else in the world. Before I knew it I was knee-deep in signing shirts, programs, banners. Shit, one girl wanted me to sign her tit. I didn’t of course. We weren’t supposed to touch the fans inappropriately. Team rules were team rules.
After I’d smiled at least a million times for pictures, I pushed through the crowd to grab a bottle of Gatorade. That’s when I saw Gillian with her sunglasses on, leaning against the water cart and watching me with a smile on her face that lit me up from the inside. Despite the shitty practice and Coach removing me from my position for a few plays, the dire mood I was in instantly lifted.
There were so many people around, and I felt that made it safe to walk over to her. No one was watching us or paying attention. The place was a zoo. The music had been turned off so the video screen could replay the practice that we’d just fucked up.
Her eyes widen when she figured out what I was doing. “Gillian,” I grinned.
She reached behind her and grabbed a water bottle. “Hello, Lucas,” she said a little shakily. “Tough game, huh?”
I wiped my brow with my forearm. “Shitty is a better way of putting it.”
She nodded in agreement and then handed me the bottle in her hand. It made a good rouse. I cracked open the lid and drank before asking, “What exactly was so funny at breakfast this morning?”
The crowd was thickening and we were lost behind them. It was loud. No one could hear us. Even so, she waved a hand. “I’ll tell you tonight when we meet at the bridge.”
With a scowl, I said, “No, I want to know now.”
Not that she had any reason to feel bad. It was my blunder, whatever it was, but still she didn’t seem to want to say anything.
I smiled then, a predatory smile that slid over her like she was my mark, and she knew it because she shivered.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, she sighed. “Fine, but really it was no big deal. My father just said you have no idea how difficult it is to be the coach sometimes.”
There was nothing about that which wasn’t a big deal. “And I said, yes, I do, like I fucking know what it’s like to be the coach. Fuckkkkkkk!”
