Enjoy it while it lasts.
Once camp ends and classes start, free time will be a thing of the past. The team is poised for a championship run, but with the loss of our kicker, it’s going to take all of us busting our asses to make it happen. Long practices. Brutal conditioning. Late night study halls.
So, yeah. Just the most challenging semester of my entire college career.
No pressure.
My gut tightens, but I breathe through the nerves.
You’ve got this, asshole.
I’m sure as hell not going to be the guy who drops the ball. Not when most of our starters are graduating in the spring and this is their last shot at a national title. I’ve still got another year of eligibility, thanks to redshirting as a freshman, but once Coop and Reid graduate, the Wildcats will be in rebuilding mode.
It’s just as well. It’ll give me a chance to focus on my grades, like I did freshman year. Most guys hate redshirting, but it allowed me to transition from high school to college without being completely overwhelmed. Fact is, if I’d been expected to memorize the playbookandpass English Lit, I’d have been screwed.
Goodbye, scholarship. Goodbye, Waverly.
“Get your head in the game,” Coop says, clapping me on the back. “If we lose, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
No kidding. Smith is still bragging about the Madden beatdown he gave Coop last spring.
“What’s the play?”
“Go deep.” He shoots an appraising look at Smith. “He’s fast, but you’ve got a better vertical jump.”
We bump fists and line up, ready to rock the instant Reid pulls the frisbee. Like in football, he has to pass it to the opposition. At which point Coop will catch it, and, if things work out, pass it to me in the end zone.
“Let’s do this.”
Reid puts the frisbee in motion and I haul ass across the lawn, pivoting around Smith. Reid counts down the possession—six, five, four—and fuck, I need to get open or Coop will have to turn the frisbee over. Smith bumps me from behind, a little friendly contact, and I turn, jogging the last few steps backward as Coop slings the plastic disc my way.
It sails through the air, sun glinting off the shiny white surface as I jump, arm extended, ready to make the grab.
Smith elbows me in the ribs and I get a face full of locs, but it’s all good because I’ve got the disc, fuck you very much.
I come down on one foot, but the momentum of the jump carries me backward and I crash ass-over-elbow into God only knows what.
One second, I’m sailing through the air, disc in hand, the next I’m flat on my back, staring at the summer sky, something sharp as hell stabbing me in the side as I gasp for breath.
“Get. Off. Me.”
I’m on my feet in an instant because holy fuck, that stabbing pain is a girl.
Well, a woman. A tiny woman. With cobalt hair.
And she doesnotlook happy.
Not that I blame her. I mean, I did just smash her. Well, not likesmashsmash, but…fuck.
“Shit. I’m so sorry.” I extend a hand, prepared to help her to her feet. “I didn’t see you.”
She stares at my outstretched hand like I’ve got leprosy and I’m not sure how to proceed. On the one hand, I almost knocked her out. On the other, it was an accident, and it’s not like I have fucking cooties.
The look on her face would suggest otherwise.
It’s not the first time someone’s looked at me that way. Doubt it’ll be the last.
I plaster a smile on, pretending she’s not looking at me like something foul stuck to the bottom of her shoe, and try the apology again. “I’m really sorry. I— I didn’t see you.”
