He continued shouting out commands, which could be heard over the thumping music coming from the sideline, when he turned and caught me staring.
Perfect. Not awkward at all.
The corner of his mouth lifted. It wasn’t even subtle because a few players followed his smirk.
I opened my notebook, giving myself something to do, even though I didn’t plan on writing or reading a damn thing.
I looked up as he ran another play, catching the extra bounce in his step. He seemed to run faster, throw longer, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, he was showing off a little. Every time he took a snap, he threw another completed pass, acting as if he had something to prove.
“Go left,” he yelled to one of his receivers. “Corner pocket.”
The guy flew down the field as the ball spiraled through the air. He jumped just as the ball fell gently into his hands.
Everyone went nuts, and the coaches seemed impressed. I had to hand it to Nate; he looked pretty damn good out there.
The offense huddled in a circle to go over the next play. They were all chirping at each other and laughing. Doing their usual trash-talk.
“He’s showing off for you.”
I turned, not realizing that Coach Mac was standing there. Great! He saw me watching him.
“His arm looks good,” I said, squinting my eyes against the blinding sun.
His eyes flicked back to the field. “I heard you are interviewing him.”
“That is correct.”
He placed his hands on his hips. “What’s the angle?”
I blinked at him, trying to figure out where he was going with this.
“There is no angle. It’s just a standard interview. Nothing too heavy.”
He hummed like he wasn’t sure if he believed me. What was his deal? “I’m trying to keep him focused this year. That last game wasn’t great.”
Coach Mac was old-school. He’s built a reputation on discipline, loyalty, and winning seasons. He was the kind of coach where you straightened up when he walked into a room. People respected him, even though they didn’t always like him. He was known more for his temper than his charm. If he had a soft side, I’d never seen it.
“I’m aware.”
“Good,” he said, pulling on his baseball cap. “Because I don’t want him dragged back into it. We’re trying to move forward here.”
My gaze sharpened instantly. There was no friendliness in his tone. In fact, there was a warning hiding underneath it. My guard went up immediately. “That’s not what this interview is about.”
He nodded. “Just keep it positive. I need Nate locked in; he has enough noise around him already.”
I followed his gaze to where Nate threw another perfect pass.
Coach Mac walked away, but I stood there watching him. That whole conversation felt off. Almost like a warning, and it only made me more curious. I’d been around long enough to know when someone was trying to steer me away from a story. And coaches didn’t usually warn reporters unless there was something they didn’t want us to find out.
“All right, showoff,” one of the players called out.
Even with his helmet on, I could still see Nate’s grin. I tried not to smile but failed.
I shifted on my feet, watching him command the next two plays. He threw long, he ran fast, and I could feel his confidence every time he sidestepped a defender and completed the play.
One of the linemen called out, “Are there cameras rolling somewhere, or are you just trying to make us look bad on purpose?”
“Relax,” he shot back. “I’m just warming up.”
