“I haven’t been stalking him.”
“Whatever you say, Swim Fan. My point is that you haven’t shut up about this guy for the last six months and now here he is exactly where you wanted him and you’re hanging out with me next to a gym bag that smells like sardines.”
“I was thinking clams.”
“I’m thinking about burning it.”
I cast him a wan smile. “I will pay you so much money to follow through with that thought.”
“Or you could walk away to avoid the stench. Maybe thirty feet to your right.”
My smile falls as I look away. “I’m good here.”
“Sloane.”
“I kissed him,” I whisper.
Hollis freezes, his eyes focused straight ahead at the athletes running drills across the field. “Are you shitting me?” he whispers back.
“I wish I was.”
“Bad move, Ashford.”
“I very much know that.”
“Is that all you did?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone see?”
“No.”
He nods slowly. “Okay, it’s not that bad. Just forget about it and—“
“I keep reliving it. I keep thinking about it and every time I do I…” I close my eyes, licking my lips gently. They were swollen when I went to sleep last night. Nearly bruised from the press of his kiss. “You’re right, I have to stop thinking about it.”
“No shit,” he agrees vehemently.
“I have to stay away from him.”
“You can’t.”
“Yes, I can. It’s the last day. He has these drills and then that’s it. You can take him to the airport for me when you take Reed. Tell them I’m in a meeting or I’m sick or dead. I don’t care what you say.”
“No, I’m serious, you can’t avoid him. Look at him.”
I glance reluctantly to my right where Trey stands against the wall. His eyes are honed downfield where a cluster of quarterbacks are lazily tossing the ball around. After every throw they take a step back, widening the gap between them. Launching the ball farther and farther down the field. Pinpoint accuracy to every toss and the entire building sees it. Every coach and scout in the room is watching them, processing their skill.
And it’s killing Trey.
His face is cut hard, his eyes burning. His hands are clenched. He’s tugging at his splint.
“Ah dammit,” I curse under my breath.
“You better go talk to him. People are going to notice something’s up with him if he doesn’t knock it off soon, and if there’s one thing coaches hate, it’s emotional quarterbacks.”
“I know, I know,” I grumble.
I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder before I close the distance between myself and Trey. He doesn’t break his stare on the competition. He holds his rigid posture, his eyes hard on them as they scrimmage, but he knows I’m there. He can feel me lean against the wall next to him.
“I could pull my splint off. It’s coming off next week anyway.”
“You’re not doing that,” I reply calmly.
He licks his lips. “I can throw today.”
“No, you can’t. You throw with an untested, unpracticed hand and you’ll ruin yourself, not to mention all the work I’ve done over the last couple days.”
“Are you kidding me?” He points downfield. “Look at that. Two of those guys are already ahead of me in the Draft even on a good day when I’m still ranked number four. Every time they throw a pass I disappear a little more. I fall a little farther.”
I reach for his arm, laying my hand on it to gently push it down. “Stop pointing and stop staring. You’re cracking.”
“Hell yeah, I’m cracking. I’m a ghost here today!”
“Would you calm your shit,” I whisper harshly, turning to stand in front of him. To try to block his view of the other players. It shouldn’t work. He towers over me, but his eyes are on mine when I glare up at him. He looks desperate. Restless. “Breathe. Chill out. You’ve got to keep it together for one more afternoon, then it’s over. The next time any of them will see you is on Pro Day when you’re out of the splint and back in action, so take it easy.”
“Not all of them are coming to Pro Day.”
“Coach Allen is.”
He blinks in surprise. “He’s really coming?”
“Of course he’s coming. He’s a UCLA alum, he lives in L.A., and he’s crazy in love with you.” He nods his head, not convinced. I decide to play my ace in the hole. “He’s already made a trade.”
Trey’s eyes snap to mine. “A trade for what?”
I smile. “A first round draft pick.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“I’m not. He made it official late last night. He traded Duncan Walker and his second round draft pick this year to the Montana Miners for their first round pick and tight end Kurtis Matthews. Now the Kodiaks have the number four pick and they’re in the market for a quarterback.”