You’re welcome, Ayla. Now get some rest.
Ayla
Those words seemed like they would come with a tone.
I smiled, wanting to keep talking until I learned every way she pushed back. I loved that she challenged me. Softness and stubbornness lived side by side in this woman without contradiction.
Lennox
Please rest.
Ayla
That’s better.
Lennox
See? I can vary my delivery.
Ayla
Goodnight, Monroe.
Lennox
Goodnight, Callahan.
Amused, I shook my head. I wasn’t the type to sit around smiling at my phone or let a text conversation distract me from film study.
“Focus,” I muttered.
Game film came back to life on the screen. I picked up my notebook and forced my attention back. But the smile stayed.
Tuesday, I was back on the practice field under the hot midday sun. The first full day back was always long, and the guys were not subtle.
“Yo,” Jace called out during warmups, grin already loaded. “Number ten, you owe us.”
I sighed, knowing what was coming, but letting it play out.
“For?”
“For giving you the opportunity to make a play on the field that made a cheerleader fall for you. We should do it again.”
Laughter rippled down the line.
“I’ll take my payment in Vegas poker chips,” Jace added.
“Don’t give him ideas,” Theo said. “He’s gonna start running routes straight to the sideline every game now.”
The guys chuckled. I gave them a slow, cunning smile, then made them pay. Almost all my throws that day were long bombs deep into their routes. Over and over, I forced them to sprint until the jokes dried up and the complaints started. Jace bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
“You’re evil,” he muttered. “You know some of those throws were impossible to get to.”
I flipped the ball in my hand. “Run faster.”
Practice ended with the offensive line exhausted, but silent. Job done.
As we left the field, sweat dried sticky under my pads, and the early afternoon sun hung high over the modern facility. Players draped towels over their heads and scraped their cleats on the concrete path back to the building.