“You’ve got to run that route better!” I shout to Ford after he comes up empty for the second time in a row.
“I’m running it like I always do.”
Placing both hands on my hips, I tilt my face up to the blazing sun. I hear him sigh as he comes up next to me after the play.
“I’ve run this route a dozen times that exact way. Your throw is off.”
I gape in his direction. “Mythrow is off?”
“You’re hitting me after I’ve already crossed mid-field, man. I’m having to reach back every time. Get it out sooner. Hit me in the chest with it.” He slaps my shoulder and jogs away from me.
Get it out sooner.
I’d like to hit him in the chest with something, all right.
My hands clap together with the ball in between them, feeling the rough exterior of the leather on my palms.
Make sure your timing is right. Every time.
Words my dad would tell me in high school ring in my ears.
I sling the ball again, this time like a bullet the second I drop back and watch as it drills Ford between the numbers on his jersey. His laugh is loud and he shouts excitedly as he slows his pace.
“That’s it, baby.” He points to me with a wide grin.
“I think he liked that one,” Nate says, shaking his head with a smile. And I do the same.
Nate and I walk over to the sidelines where there’s already an assistant standing with an ice-cold soaked sponge ready to wring it out over my neck. I lean forward, ready to welcome the cold water in this heat. It’s hot as hell out today. I’m thankful for all the resources our team has available for us, though, when it comes to our safety in this heat.
There’s a cooling trailer on the practice field to help drop our temperature after being out in the heat and humidity all day for practice. The trailers are set around eighteen degrees—frigid, but something to look forward to after a long day. Ice benches are used during practice and in game days when needed too. Plus, good old fashioned ice caps we can just place on our neck or wrap around our head to help bring our temperature down.
The cameras are all around the field, and Demi is on the far end doing an interview with Chase. I try not to stare, but I think that ship has sailed. My eyes always find her.
She’s in simple black jeans with a white T-shirt as she stands on the sidelines holding a mic, forcing Chase to do the one thing he hates. Talk.
I watch her mannerisms. Her facial expressions and her body language. She’s full of strength and grace today. And it’s fuckingbeautiful to see. Although I can’t help but wonder why she’s looking for an apartment now when I thought she had moved in with that intern from Ford’s party. At least that’s what Abby told me.
“Hundred bucks says he comes over here and bitches about being interviewed.” Nate tilts his chin as he sees Chase nonchalantly walking our way.
I bark out a laugh, knowing there’s no way I’m taking that bet.
“At least she’s quick.” Chase runs a hand through his hair as he groans.
“Pay up.” Nate looks at me, extending a hand.
“I knew better than to take that bet.”
Chase looks between the two of us. “What bet?”
“That you’d come over here and immediately complain about being interviewed.”
“That was hardly a complaint. More like a compliment toward Demi,” he replies to Nate. “How about you pay me?”
Ford jogs over to us, wiping his hands on a towel hanging out of his shorts.
“Any chance Coach won’t notice if I just go sit in the cooling trailer early? I’m fucking dying out here.”
“I definitely wouldn’t point it out to him that you were missing,” Nate teases, smiling at Ford.
