I fill out the form quickly. Adding in necessary details for payroll and my contact information. I’m adding my class schedule to the blank space at the bottom of the form for notes when Tiago joins me.
“I’m going to turn this in and leave.” I make eye contact. “I don’t have anything to say to you except you should take a chill pill the size of a steak.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“No, you won’t. I’ve got my bike.” I make sure my voice sounds complacent and not like I want to bash him. I finish the information and pass the clipboard back to Goose. “Thanks. Put me to work whenever you need me.” I smile when I say it so he knows I mean it.
Goose says, “We’ll get you on the schedule soon.”
“Perfect.”
He glances at Tiago expectantly, waiting for an introduction. I’m left without a choice. “Goose, this is my friend TJ. He’s a placekicker for the Gladiators. TJ, meet Goose, my new boss.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m going to make sure Phoebe gets home safely,” Tiago tells Goose.
He nods. “I’m glad to hear that.” He gives Tiago an up-and-down perusal. “Two words of advice, TJ. Respect and kindness.”
“Yes, sir,” Tiago agrees.
Goose waves us on. “I’ll let you know your schedule soon.”
“Thank you.” I don’t trust my voice beyond those two simple words.
Tiago follows me out of the restaurant, but I skirt to the opposite side of where the others sit. I don’t want to rejoin them with Tiago in tow.
“Look,” Tiago says.
But I ignore him. I’m on a mission to get my bike and get to Agnes’s place without any sort of conversation.
“Will you listen?”
I continue at a fast pace. “Give me one good reason.”
“I’m sorry I was an ass back there.”
“You should be more specific.”
“Phoebe.” When he says my name, the plea in his voice makes me relent.
I spin toward Tiago to confront him. “You embarrassed me.”
“I embarrassed myself. They all know it. You should, too.”
My hands shake. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m angry. “Fine. Good talk.” I’m completely exasperated with him.
“I’ve been worried about you all day. Then I walk up and hear something that sounds off. I reacted with emotion not logic. I’m sorry, hurting or embarrassing you wasn’t intentional.”
He runs his fingers through the top of his hair in what appears to be genuine exasperation. Changing the flawlessness of his hair and reconfiguring it to another kind of messy perfection.
“I’m not proud. You’re not the only person I owe an apology.”
“Slut is such an ugly word. I didn’t appreciate being reminded by you.” I stomp off toward Philz Coffee. I need to get my bike and find my dignity. I’m close to tears from the sheer emotion this day has visited upon me.
“I’m sorry,” Tiago says talking with his hands. “I screwed up.” He blows out a breath. “If this day sucked any harder, we’d both come.”
The fact that my laugh spurts out of nowhere shows the extent of my agitation, morphing from the threat of tears to laughter.
Tiago reaches for my hand. “I have no right to feel what I’m feeling when it comes to you. I can’t get into it or be more honest with you other than to say the timing sucks. And yet every time I’m around you I stumble a little harder for you.”
“Do me a favor.” I make eye contact. He makes it sound like he’s into me, and at the same time, suppressing those emotions. “Let me know if you ever hit the ground. That’s when what’s happening between us gets interesting.”
CHAPTER TEN
Tiago
It’s game day. All of us sit in the locker room while Coach gives us his pre-game talk. His words are our ultimate source of inspiration and intimidation as he preps us to take the field.
“Gentlemen. I don’t have to tell you Gladiators are capable of dominating any opponent. I see it every time we take the field, in our colosseum, or on the practice fields. The media believes the Lobos are the team to beat this season. Let them go on spouting that pure bullshit. The best team in our conference will be found here, in our locker room. Each yard we fight for and defend against will be discussed and reviewed. We will be judged by our performance. I expect you to take our field and defend it.”
His gaze lands on us individually. “Fight like warriors. Prove to everyone outside this room that we’re the best. Gladiators wear helmets. But your shields are welded by your commitment to this team. Your skill and honor represent the weapons each of you carries. Gladiators feel no wounds until the battle is won. There are only two ways to leave the field of battle: on your feet or on your shield. This is our house.”
We all scream, “We are Gladiators!”
The tart flavor of enthusiasm and coppery taste of emotion layers my taste buds. After Coach’s speech, palpable energy pulses throughout the bodies of each of my teammates in the locker room. It grows in combined shouts or builds in mouths clamped shut to harness strength.
This is who we are before we hit the field. Once we run down the tunnel there’s no turning back. Like Coach says, the field is our battleground.
We chant fortis fortuna adiuvat or fortune favors the brave as each of us slaps the Gladiator emblem over the doors that opens to our field tunnel. And we’re off. Between the sound of one-hundred-seventeen pairs of cleats slapping concrete and the shouts of my teammates, the noise level inside the passageway instantly reaches volumes guaranteed to damage eardrums.
We are preceded by our mascot. Each year a senior male or female gets elected by the student body to wear the traditional Gladiator costume in black and gold to ride in a chariot behind Incitatus, our mascot horse, onto the field ahead of the team. The pair will do a single loop around the oval track and head out of the colosseum. We’ll run through our opening and onto the field through pyrotechnics and smoke. The roar of the crowd is deafening.
We’ll play four fifteen-minute quarters and take a twenty-minute halftime break. All said and done between rules that govern when to stop the game clock, we’ll be on the field close to three and a half hours. There is nowhere I’d rather be right at this moment than taking the field at Gladiator Colosseum.
Our colosseum resembles its ancient namesake in Rome. The scoreboard stands between two asymmetrical columns. Pillars and vaults tower five stories above the field. Rows of curved stone pews sectioned into large stalls comprise open seating in each end zone, while all other seating in the arena looks like most other college stadiums.
I glance at the section where seats are allotted to players’ families. It’s located above our marching band in the student section.
Phoebes should be up there right now sitting next to Faith.
We haven’t seen each other since I made an ass out of myself at Goose’s three days ago. No chance meeting at Pump It Fit, or on campus. I looked everywhere for her. She’s a pro at maintaining a low profile. Stealth student.
Everest and our other team captains cross to the center of the field for the coin toss where the refs and team captains from the Lobos all meet. This will determine who takes possession of the ball first. The team winning the flip has three choices to make. Whether to kick off, receive, or defer the ball. Coach believes there’s an advantage to deferring the ball to the second half. Just in case you’re down points and want to receive the ball to score quickly. Deferring to the second half also holds our defense off the field longer, which conserves energy and keeps us fresh.
Everest calls tails. He never calls heads; it’s a thing with him. Tails never fails. When the coin lands in our favor he tells the referee our choice, which sends the kickoff team to the field.
I carry the tee to the thirty-five-yard line where we’ll set the ball for kickoff.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I need to kick the football as far as the Lobos’s twenty-five-yard line for
a touchback. The rule used to be I’d have to kick it into their end zone, but it changed before I started at Fortis. Drop it on the thirty and a returner can catch the ball and run with it all the way to our end zone. I’d feel responsible if that happened. I need to make sure it doesn’t.
First conference game. The first kick of this game. Getting it right means everything to me. Sweat rolls down my neck and underneath my pads. I set the ball into the tee. I back up almost three yards or three running steps for me. I step to the left at a ninety-degree angle. Adrenaline pumps through me and I concentrate on the ball in the tee nine feet away. Ready for my foot to send it airborne. Our kickoff team is lined up in front of me. From the opposite end zone, I hear the white-hat referee blow his whistle.
Eye on the ball. Nothing else matters. Hyper-focused. I hit the football between my toe and ankle, shooting it into the air where it lands in their end zone. Where I always aim regardless of rules.
“Let’s go!” I shout while I run to our sideline.
The Lobos line up on their twenty-five-yard line and our defensive line set according to the playbook we use against this team. We’ve watched a shit ton of film this week preparing for this game.
We want this win in a bad way to prove to all we’re a force on the field.
The ball gets snapped and Baloo, our defensive end, runs around their right tackle to take down their QB in a sack. Our sideline erupts. Students chant for Baloo, while all our fans raise the volume with their shouts.
But that’s the only thing that goes our way. We’re scoreless at the end of the first quarter. Then again, so are they. It’s been a freaking struggle for every yard.
Everest and the rest of the offensive line all head out to the field. Dallas, our QB, takes the snap and throws the ball to CW who runs for about eighteen yards on the carry. Putting us within twenty yards of the Lobos end zone. Touchdown territory and well within field goal range.
I clamp my hands tight and focus on the field. I might be called in at any time.
Dallas throws a bullet pass to Rosie, one of our running backs, and hits him right between his jersey numbers. Rosie gets to the five-yard line before getting tackled, but the run was good for more than ten yards and a first down.
Shit. So damn close.
Our offensive line sets up in a wedge formation. Dallas takes the snap, steps over to the right side of our center Chrysler, while our blockers cleave through their defensive line like well-honed swords. They create an opening wide enough for Incitatus and our chariot to drive through. In a flash, Dallas runs past the line of scrimmage and into the end zone. The QB sneak works, and he’s through.
Touchdown!
Our sideline goes wild. It’s up to me now. I’ve got to head in with Rio, my placeholder. He’ll take the snap and position the ball for me. Rio and I are tight. We’re both superstitious as fuck on the football field. We don’t talk during games. We each have one job to do. Words would jinx us.
The buzz of electricity hums along my skin as I line up to do my job. Crikey, our Australian-born long snapper, hikes the ball to Rio, who snatches it out of the air, sets, and holds the ball for my kick. My scalp shrinks. And the crowd noise fades to nothing. Three long strides and I drill the football through the uprights like magic.
The deafening sound of the crowd comes roaring back, and I’m transported out of my head and into the colosseum, emperor of the field for these seconds after the football flies between the goalposts.
Everest gives my helmet a noogie. It’s our thing to keep the mojo going. Another superstition. But when something works for you most of the time, it would be careless not to keep doing it.
We’re up by seven with two minutes left on the clock until halftime.
Since we scored, we now kick off to the Lobos. Still pumped, I grab my tee and head out to the field again. The ball lands on the twenty, which automatically brings it up to their twenty-five-yard line. But in the two remaining minutes, our defense holds the Lobos’s offensive line to nine yards with negative yardage due to Baloo’s second sack.
We head into our locker room at the half motivated to win, while our hugely talented marching band rushes onto the field to entertain all who came to watch today’s game. Our fans love our band for their innovative performances.
Coach’s halftime speech was more of the same with attention paid to specific plays where we could have done better. Anticipated shifts and nuances to their playbook as they adjust to our style of play, etcetera.
All in all, we’re staying hot and will bring momentum with us to the second half.
CW stops by my locker. “Faith asked me to make sure you’re coming to my place after the game. Phoebe will be there. What say you?”
“Cool. I’m in. Do me a favor and maintain maniac mode.”
He grins. “Maniac mode? Hasn’t helped much yet, but I like the term.”
Coach blows his whistle and we take the field again. The second half doesn’t go any better than the first, with the exception of our score. The Lobos score a field goal late in the third quarter, but nothing since for either team. The game ends with the scoreboard showing Gladiators seven to Lobos three. Coach calls it soccer scores, but he’s all about having one more point than the other team.
It’s all about the win.
It’s a relief to win our first in-conference game of the season. We head to the locker room where Coach says a few words about the game. “Start strong, stay strong,” he tells us. “Don’t take it for granted. We have to stay focused and hungry.”
Once Coach releases the team, we hit the showers. Sounds like the regular crowd will hang out at CW’s place if the chatter in the showers pans out. Everest, Rosie, Dallas and a few others said they’re in. I’ll stop and get something to contribute food-wise. CW usually has a stocked fridge because Mama Ria acts a lot like mine and fears his imminent starvation if she doesn’t keep it filled.
Still, I won’t sponge. I’ll buy some snacks and keep the cost low. I can’t really afford much these days, but I won’t show up empty-handed either. It wouldn’t feel right.
Since Faith and Phoebe sat together, I assume they’ll wait for us outside our player entrance. After changing into my street clothes, jeans and a long-sleeve Gladiator T-shirt, I take off with CW to find them. This is the first official time I’ll bring a plus-one to a Gladiator event. I’m strangely anxious about it. My teammates live to razz. I hope she can handle some teasing.
When my gaze lands on Phoebes my body reacts. Subtle tightening of my abs and a little pinch higher in my chest. Probably in my lungs, because it can’t be my heart. Too soon. Her smile grabs me by the throat. She’s wearing a white tee and jeans that hug her body. The sight of her mile-long legs makes my pulse beat like a drum, and I lose concentration. CW has to repeat whatever he said while my focus was solely on Phoebes.
“Dude. You have it bad.”
“No, I don’t,” I say wicked fast, which sounds defensive and juvenile. Faith shoots me a knowing look, too. She’s wearing her game-day outfit of jeans and a zip-front Gladiator hoodie. I nod.
“Sure thing, TJ. But I remember seeing that look before. It happened to be on my face each time I came within twenty yards of Faith, but what do I know?”
“You’re Jon Snow on this one.”
He snorts. “I do know something about love and lust, my friend. You’re suffering from the latter, but most likely a lot of both.”
I shake my head in denial. “Nope.”
He wags his finger at me. “You just don’t know what to do with it. You’re used to women falling at your feet. You know how to manage the clingers. You’re completely out of your league with someone you might actually care about.”
“Stop. She’ll hear you.” But he’s wrong. I know exactly how to treat someone I care about, but her family tree complicates everything.
He gives me side-eye, but he does drop it. He reaches for Faith and presses his lips to her mouth with a soft kiss.
I can
’t do that with Phoebes, and I settle for a hug. “Hey, thanks for coming to the game.”
“Thanks for the ticket. I enjoyed myself. Congrats on the win, gentlemen.”
CW smiles. “Thanks.”
Since there was a pause in the conversation I’m compelled to say, “I hear Faith invited you to CW’s place.”
Faith says, “Yes, we worked it out. Phoebe will crash with me at my dad’s place afterward. As luck would have it, she already has a change of clothes with her, so we’re all set.”
I can’t get Phoebe’s scent out of my brain. Sweet, maybe a dash of vanilla. She smells like a bakery. Warm and inviting. “Great,” I say to her belatedly. “Want to ride over with me?”
“That works. Faith?”
“Yes, I’ll ride with Caleb.”
“We’re going to make one stop on our way and then we’ll be right over. Good?”
They wave at us as they make their way to the parking lot. The urge to hold Phoebe’s hand nearly overwhelms me. We walk side by side on the way to my car. She’s about two inches shorter than me in her black canvas sneakers. I guess I’ve always dated short women, but I love staring at Phoebes straight on.
We’re about ten yards behind Faith and CW. The silence between us stretches on. I can’t figure out what to say.
“You played well tonight. You put the ball where it needed to be.”
“Thanks.” I process her words and realize how much her praise means to me.
“The Lobos have a brutally talented offense this year. The Gladiator defense held them to a field goal.” She leans into my shoulder. “Impressive.”
The contact between us feels good. Fantastic actually. “I like that word.”
Phoebe laughs. “You would, but since you’re on special teams and not defense, impressive doesn’t apply to you personally.”
“Oh yeah?” I press my shoulder against hers, and my heart gallops like I’ve run the length of the field at full speed. “What word would you use to describe me: magnificent?”
“Conceited?”
“We’re talking about my ability on the field, right?”
Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2) Page 10
