Coach Jackson, along with the offensive and defensive coaches, gathered together. “Summers, try and step out of the snap quicker. The Roadrunners have that big moose of a defensive end who can move like a son of a bitch. We know they’ll be gunning for you.”
I nodded. “Got it, Coach.”
“Yeah, Devil. Don’t want that pretty face of yours getting knocked up,” Marlon Lane, one of my buddies, razzed me, and I grinned and flipped him off.
“Beautiful catch, Armstrong. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Martin, keep your eyes on the tackles. They’re gonna double-team ya, but I know you’ve got the moves.”
I kept a neutral face.
Coach, you have no idea.
As always, Brody listened carefully, and on our next play, he sidestepped the two-man team covering him and caught my pass to run for thirty yards. Coach clapped his hands.
“That’s what I’m talking about. All right. Break for the day. Get your sleep, no partying with the groupies—no matter how cute—and see you here tomorrow.”
We tramped off the field and hit the locker rooms. Brody got there first and was already in the shower. I stripped out of my pads and gear and joined him and the others. It felt like heaven to let the hot water soak my aching muscles. My post-game massage was going to feel so damn good. I dried off, and with a towel around my waist, returned to the locker room.
“Dude, we’re lookin’ sharp out there.” Jonas soft-punched me in the shoulder. “You kept it together during the off-season or what?”
“You could say that. Spent lots of days jogging and avoiding ice cream.”
“Don’t believe him,” Brody called out from across the room.
“Hey, you be quiet over there, newbie,” I cackled.
“Blink’s a great addition. He’s big and fast. Knows where to be when you throw the ball.” Jonas pulled on his T-shirt. I eyed him. Jonas was a rock—six foot three and two hundred thirty pounds of solid muscle. Hitting him was like running into a wall, and I knew he and Brody would get along.
“Yeah, we spent some time together on the off-season, and as soon as I knew he’d be coming here, I showed him the playbook and we ran some plays.”
“Man, you only think about football.” Jonas shook his head. “You need to get out more.”
“I do just fine, thanks.” Thinking of my time with Brody, I knew I wouldn’t change a single second. “I take it you did something else?”
“You know it. My wife and I found a house, and we’re gonna have a baby.” He proudly displayed a picture of them on a gorgeous beach, with his lady showing off a sweet baby bump.
“Congrats. That’s awesome.” I was genuinely happy for him, even though I had zero interest in children.
“How about you? No one catch your eye? Or is the Devil having too much fun playing the field?”
I winked. “Life is short, my man. Gotta grab all the fun while I can.”
Zeke Cunningham, the place kicker, strolled by. “Or maybe you’re too busy playing with someone already on the field, huh?”
Jonas’s brow furrowed, and fear prickled through me, but I kept my head. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Zeke shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
I crossed my arms. “So far I don’t hear you saying anything but a lot of shit that doesn’t mean anything.”
Zeke’s locker was across the aisle, near Brody, who was halfway dressed but had stopped to listen. Music was blaring, and most everyone was minding their own business, not paying attention to Zeke. He was a bit of a hothead but always aced his kicks, so people left him alone.
Zeke faced me with a mocking smile and a calculating gleam in his eyes. “Just that you’ve got thisbiiigrep as Devil, like you’re a ladies’ man and wild in the sack, but I’ve never seen you with nobody. Who was the last chick you went out with? Far as I know, you spent your whole summer with your best friend, old Blink here, who you asked to be signed.”
“Yeah?” I tightened the towel and advanced on him. “You’ve been checking up on me? Why’s that?”
We were about the same height, but I was so ferociously angry, he took a step back.
Zeke shrugged. “Just stating the obvious.”
