Austin poked his head in as soon as I stepped under the shower. “Derek has a point. Get Montana out of your system.”
I squirted soap in my hair. “When the sky falls, I will.”
“I tried, guys,” Austin said, his voice fading.
Guys booed while I finished showering. Then I toweled off and wrapped the terry cloth fabric around my waist on the way to my locker. Montana’s name dropped from someone’s lips.
I stood up on one of the wooden benches. “First, chill about Montana. Coach knows what he’s doing.” At least my fingers were crossed on that. “Two, I’m not going to use her to get my rocks off because you think that will help us win a game or to get over someone else. We’ll win on Friday night based on our skills, provided you morons haveyourhead in the game. Remember, Charleston High is one tough motherfucker of a team. So we need defense in tiptop shape. We also need the offensive line to do their job, and I will do mine.” Then I hopped down.
One by one, they nodded. Several slapped me on the back before they left. Finally, when the locker room was empty with the exception of Austin and me, I dropped down on the bench.
Austin leaned against a locker opposite me. “I’ll be one hundred percent. Don’t worry about me. I texted you Montana’s address. What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to talk. Then afterward, I’m getting drunk.” Or maybe I should get laid. Then maybe I wouldn’t be sexually frustrated around Montana.
“Your mind is going a mile a minute,” Austin said.
He knew me too well. “It’s only the second day of school, and I feel like I’ve been in hell both days. If this is what senior year is going to be like, then I will need tons of girls and booze.”
“There’s my friend.” He grinned. “Celibacy never helped me.”
Chuckling, I got off my ass and dressed. “Since when has the girl magnet been celibate?”
“You got a point. Do you want me to come with you to Montana’s?”
“No. I won’t be long.” My plan was to dissuade her from football. I couldn’t have the guys on edge, and I had to keep order on the team and in my head.
Austin and I chatted about football all the way to my truck. After I was on the road for the one-mile ride to Montana’s house, I turned up the Grant Lee Buffalo song on the radio, although I wasn’t listening. I was debating what to say to her, but all I could think about was throwing her against the wall and kissing the fuck out of her.
I pulled up to the two-story plantation home with the wraparound porch. It looked like every other house in the neighborhood. The engine idled.Get out of your vehicle and be the polite Southern boy you’re known to be.I’d had that illustrious distinction for most of my life until I’d put that Clemson quarterback in the emergency room. Then polite had gone out to sea.
I got out of my Hummer, absorbed the humidity, and strode up the driveway to the path that ran parallel to the house. After I climbed the four steps onto the porch, I raised my hand to ring the doorbell then paused. Montana’s singsong voice floated through the screen door.
“Someone saw you in the grocery store yesterday,” Montana said. “They know you’re here.”
“We’ll deal with it,” a voice that sounded almost like Montana’s said.
I glanced at the Lexus in the driveway, trying to decipher what the heck was going on. When I turned back, Montana was staring directly at me through the screen door.
