But it’s fast and efficient. Each person gets maybe a handful of touches before the coaches rotate them out and someone else steps in.
Still, I feel good, better than good.
Everything clicks in that way it does sometimes, where my body just knows what to do before I think about it. My touches are clean, my passes land, and I read the field like it’s straight from a playbook.
At one point, I trap a long ball out of the air, pivot, and send it through two defenders to a runner breaking down on the right.
“Wow,” someone says beside me.
I glance over.
He’s got dark curls, quick eyes, and a grin that looks like he’s trying not to be impressed.
“That was nice,” he tells me. “Didn’t expect such a giant to be so fast.”
“Rude,” I say, grinning and offering a hand.
He laughs, shaking it. “José.”
“Patrick.”
“You academy?” he asks.
I shake my head before heading down the field, José following in a light jog. “D2 at Rosenbridge University.”
“Oh, same, at UWT,” he says, visibly relaxing. “Thought I was gonna be the only one.”
“Nah,” I tell him, wiggling my eyebrows. “We’re rare, but we exist. Gotta keep those academy boys on their toes.”
José tilts his head. “Makes for a good underdog story, I guess.”
“I prefer ‘mysterious wildcards,’” I say, waving my hand at the two of us.
He laughs, shaking his head. “It does sound better.”
We rotate again, and then again, and by the time drills end, I can feel it—that buzz in my veins that saysyeah, that was good.
I jog back to Colten, happy to see him, especially as he looks vaguely more relaxed, even with the khakis.
“Well?” I ask, bouncing on the tips of my toes. I know I did well, but I want him to say it.
“You’re doing well,” he says, sighing when I grin widely. His dark green eyes flash. “Don’t get cocky.”
I lean in, too close to be professional. “You worried about me, Freeman?”
His ears go red, and he looks away from me. One bonus of having his hair gelled back is that I have full access to his face. “I’m worried about you getting distracted by your competition.”
Oh? My heart skips a beat. Was he jealous because I talked to José?
“There’s no competition against you. You’re the only one I want to kiss,” I assure him.
Now his entire face turns red, practically steaming. “Shut up, that’s—shut up.”
I grin. Maybe I can convince him to reward me with kisses if I do well. But I’ve already teased him enough for now, so later.
Scrimmages come next.
Now it’s real games with real pressure. This is where it really matters.
