Kendrick snickers behind me. “Lying ass.”
“Okay. See you in ten?”
“Works for me. See you soon, Doe.” I hang up and meet three sets of eyes.
Kendrick’s are wild with mischief.
Quincy’s are amused.
The gray-haired woman I winked at has hearts in hers.
“Can you two drive yourself home?” I toss Kendrick my keys as Miriam sends a text with The Boathouse’s address.
“Like we got a choice,” he chuckles. “Come on, Baby Q. Let’s hit up a drive-thru.”
“Not too much junk so close to the season,” I call after them.
“Yes, Papa Smurf,” they groan in unison.
They dip out while I jog off to the end of the street to wait for Miriam.
Wingman to the rescue.
Chapter 19
Antonio
Nipsey Hussle’s “Dedication” blares across the pitch under dim lights. Sweat and exertion cling to the now-empty turf. The team and coaches left an hour ago. Only D and I are still here, a row of orange cones separating us.
I bob my head to the lyrics and tighten the harness across my bare chest, adjusting the compression shorts underneath my basketball shorts. I peek over at Darius, who gives me a nod. On my go, we take off.
Loaded sled sprints down a ten-yard runway isn’t what I’d call a fun Friday night. I’m tired as hell, but I’ll put in extra time after practice if D asks. He matches my speed and drops into a set of twenty push-ups before jogging back.
Show-off.
“Who you trying to impress? Your fan club president is right here,” I say, stretching my arms, exhausted from the day.
D unhooks the harness clinging to his drenched shirt and takes a towel to the sweat coating his chest and tatted arms. “Funny.” He rolls his eyes. “For real, though. I appreciate you for staying after.”
Darius, or D, and I both joined the team as free agents. We’re both pushing thirty and incorporate more training and recovery to compete with the younger guys. We eat right and stay in shape year-round so we can have a fighting chance of extending our careers.
The preseason cycle is winding down, but not the intensity.
Tactical training.
Endurance.
Agility.
Speed.
Match intensity.
The stakes are higher. So are the expectations.
Bro is a killer as a hooker. He wins the ball for us during scrums and is responsible for lineout throws to restart play. You have to be good at playing with your balls to make split-second decisions. D is a specialist who could teach a masterclass.
He usually can’t stick around after practice because of his daughter or the construction business he co-owns. How he juggles it all and still brings his A game is crazy. Like I said, he’s good with handling balls. Jokes aside, I look up to him. Well, down, since he’s five ten.
