“So?” I prompt when he doesn’t elaborate.
“She said she loves me.”
“That’s obvious, so why are you…?” I gesture to him, and then it all makes sense. His frustration is purely sexual. “You’ve got time for a quickie,” I say, glancing at the clock and hoping I can watch.
“No quickie,” he whispers harshly like she might hear me. “She’s never… I need to take my time.”
“Jesus Christ, she’s a virgin?”Shit, that’s what she meant the other night.
“Shut the fuck up!” Memphis takes a step toward me with glaring eyes. I was pretty loud.
“Sorry, sorry.” I put my hands up in surrender and look behind me to make sure she’s not standing there. “How does that happen? She’s gorgeous.”
“I don’t know, and I’m not going to ask her. It’s her fucking business. Mine is to make sure she’s taken care of.”
“And ruined for anyone else besides…” I leave the wordusoff, but it’s definitely what I’m thinking.
“Just shut up.” He rubs the side of his face again, looking up at the ceiling like he wants to storm upstairs.
“You’ve been sleeping next to her. I heard you guys fucking around.” I let it slip that I was creeping on their room, but I know he’s not surprised.
“I don’t want her to think that’s the only reason we’re here or rush her,” he admits, keeping his voice low.
“Man, I knew you had willpower, but damn.” I blow out a breath. I don’t know if Oswald’s game would keep me from being with her if I were given the chance.
“Yeah, I’m a real fucking saint,” he grates out caustically as if he believes the opposite. Memphis has always been hard on himself. I’m sure it stems from his parents thinking drugs were more important than taking care of him. He admitted a long time ago that he didn’t think he would ever love anyone because he was unlovable. I always knew that was bullshit, but I’m glad he knows it now too.
“Sit down and chill out before you bust a nut in your pants and have to explain the awkward wet spot.”
“Christ, Bates,” he complains, but he heaves himself onto the stool next to me.
“What should we talk about to distract you from thinking about her upstairs, getting all wet and soapy?”
He punches me in the arm, and I burst out laughing, even though it hurts like a son of a bitch. “You’re a dick,” he snarls.
“Ouch, I know,” I agree, rubbing the spot.
Oswald
I usually don’t payattention to the trainers that stretch us out, but the girl working on my hamstring is doing everything she can to turn this into something it’s not. I continue to ignore her until she leans her tits on my thigh. “Hey, back up a little.”
“Sorry,” she replies with a little scowl like I’m being unreasonable. I look next to me to make sure I’m not being a prick about it, but the AT working on Higgins isn’t lying all over him.
For the next few stretches, she maintains her distance, and my mind starts to get hazy as the burn from my morning warm-up returns.
“…excited to play?” She breaks my concentration, but I didn’t hear her full question, though I can guess.
“I’m good on my own for the rest.” I push my leg down, forcing her away from me. Maybe she’s just trying for small talk, and maybe the other guys don’t mind her chatter, but she’s just a tool to me, something else to help me get ready for the game, and that doesn’t include making friends.
“Fine.” She backs away from me with her hands in the air, like I accused her of assaulting me. She’s erased from my thoughts the moment she’s out of my line of sight. I work through the rest of my stretches on my own until I’m loose and warm and my mind is clear for the game.
As the time grows close for us to hit the field, my heart starts beating faster, just thinking about running through that tunnel. My knees are bouncing with the need to move, and I can’t seem to keep my hands still, so I grab the collar of my pads.
“Let’s go!” someone shouts, and hoots fill the locker room. They echo off the walls but sound far away and tinny through my helmet. I spring to my feet, feeling light but solid. The seniors and starters shove to the front of the line, but I hang back. I don’t need to be out first. I just need to be on that field.
Our footfalls are heavy and almost rhythmic as we start to stomp down the hall, like the beating of an erratic drum, but it finds a cadence that resonates in my chest. As the excitement builds, I push through my teammates, only to be stopped at the mouth of the tunnel. I’m breathing hard and feel like a caged animal. The second the staff moves to the side and allows us through, we burst forward, yelling and stomping with so much energy, it feels like I could play the entire game right now.
My feet leave the ground as I spring upward to place both of my hands on the banner, careful not to smack it too hard, then I’m sprinting to the sideline as my mind processes the packed stadium and riotous noise. I hope I never get used to this.
