“Well, you know where I am if you get lonely, feel free to come over anytime.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I nod my head slightly, not wanting to encourage her, but speed up my attempts to unlock the door before pushing inside and shutting it. I lean against it and let my head fall back. Shit. I do not need this, not here.
Girls have always liked me. Beth’s told me I’m good looking, a hottie, even a cutie patootie, as she says, but I don’t think it’s that. When it comes to girls being into me, it’s probably more to do with the vibes I give off. Because I’m not attracted to them, I’m not speaking to them with the goal of getting them into bed, so I’m actually interested in what they’re saying. That in turn makes me a good listener, easy to talk to, a ‘nice guy’, a.k.a. good boyfriend material.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been told that my brother is the guy girls go to for a fuck, a ‘bad boy’ through and through, but I’m the one they’d go to for a relationship. Which is fine, I like being the nice guy, but I don’t want girls to think I’m boyfriend material. I want guys to think I’m boyfriend material. And that, I have no idea how to do.
Kate was clearly flirting with me, I’m no expert, but she was pretty explicit, and now it will be around campus in no time that there’s a new guy, and they’ll all assume I’m straight, and I’ll never get to be me, and it’s all just a vicious fucking cycle.
Fuck, I’m doing it again. Letting my mind get lost in the spiral. I take a couple of deep breaths and look around the room, trying to focus on something else, anything to distract me. One side is completely empty—guessing that’smy side—and the other is full of stuff. It’s not messy, he just seems to have a lot of things. Most of it seems sports related, the walls are covered in posters of sports teams, and weird diagrams, rectangles with squiggles all over them. Honestly who knows, anything sports related eludes me.
But fucking great, the icing on the cake. I’m bunking with a jock.
Stephen
The final whistle blows on the drills we’ve been running; my legs feel like jello and my entire body hurts. I thought I knew what a tough practice was, but I didn’t have a clue.
“Huddle up! Take a knee!” Coach Matthews shouts, and we make our way over.
Not only are the training sessions tougher in the pros, but the whole team dynamic is different too; college football is played by college kids. I used to hate it when people referred to us as kids, but now I’ve spent some time in the real world, we are a bunch of kids, no doubt about it.
My teammates at Winbrook answer back, mutter under their breath, argue amongst each other. But here, with the Warriors, when one of the coaches says something, you do it; no ifs, ands, or buts. There are no consequences for answering back, because you just don’t do it. I’ve always been mature for my age, but this first weekend has been a steep learning curve.
“Good practice, fellas,” Coach Matthews says, looking around the team. “We keep working like this, we’re going to have a successful season, and hopefully do well in the playoffs. It’s not going to be easy; we’ve all got a target on our back. You’ll need to work, but we’ve definitely got the potential.”
“Yes, Coach,” we say in agreement.
He nods. “Good men, alright, hit the showers, you’re free to go.”
We make our way towards the tunnel, our cleats echoing against the floor.
“How was your first weekend of training, rookie?” Jordan, one of the other wide receivers, asks me.
I chuckle, “Tough. I thought I knew what a tough practice was, but I had no idea.”
“Damn straight, I was the same when I first joined. I thought college ball had prepared me for this shit; man was I wrong!”
“Glad it’s not just me,” I say. “I thought I was going to be able to handle it, training here on weekends, while still going to class and playing for Winbrook. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Yeah, that’s a lot, you’re the first person I know to do that! But you did good this weekend, you’ll get there,” he says, punching my shoulder, knowing I won’t feel it because of the pads.
“Thanks man, I appreciate that.”
“Come on, let’s hit the showers and get the hell out of this place.”
He runs off but my legs won’t let me follow, still too shaky to move any faster than I am. Even getting around the training center is a workout in itself, the place is huge, and I haven’t even seen it all yet. We were on the outdoor practice field today, but they also have an indoor one for bad weather, a state-of-the-art gym which is bigger than any set up I’ve ever seen. Entire rooms dedicated to rehab and treatment, and a huge auditorium for full team meetings. I guess when there are more than fifty of you they need that many seats.
The training center locker room is also huge, and feels like luxury compared to what we use back at Winbrook, apparently the ones in the stadium are even nicer. It still blowsmy mind that this is my life now, well, every other weekend at least.
After I’ve showered, I spend some time in the locker room sorting out my gear. Some of it will live here, but some of it I’ll need to take back and forth with me to campus. The rest of the offense team are all getting dressed around me too, and I start to pick up on their conversation. I’ve spent enough time in locker rooms to be able to blend in, navigate the banter, join in enough to be part of the team, but not so much that I let something slip accidentally.
Isaac, one of the other wide receivers, is clearly feeling passionate about something, as he stands in the middle of everyone and gestures wildly. “I’m telling you, having a girlfriend is better than sleeping around—”
“Yeah,” Joel interrupts, “but that’s easy to say when your girlfriend’s a Victoria’s Secret model.”
A load of the other guys laugh and some throw in some wolf whistles.
