“I kissed her, but that’s it.”
“Right, right,” he muses, running his hand over his mouth. Across his smile. “So you’ve been alone with this girl twice and you still didn’t seal the deal. And now here you are tired and sick looking. You’re getting old, baby. Losing your touch.”
“I could pull more ass right here, right now than you could even dream about, bitch.”
He smirks. “I believe it, because right here on a football field full of dudes, the ass is all you’re going to get. And you can have all of it far as I’m concerned.”
“You know what I mean,” I growl, feeling frustrated and foggy.
“You better hope I do. You gonna see her again?”
“Who?”
“Who?” he snorts. He slaps me on the side of the head roughly. “The girl you’re tripping over. Who are we talking about, man?”
“Lilly,” I remind him, swatting his hand away. “And yeah, I’m gonna see her again. She’s coming to the party tomorrow.”
“I’m not.”
“Where the fuck are you gonna be?”
“It’s a Saturday, man. I’m going on a date. You’re not the only one with game, bitch.”
“Bring it in!” Trey calls, calling for a huddle.
“You better get your shit together,” Tyus tells me as we jog with the rest of the offensive line toward Trey. “You come to another practice looking like this and you won’t be starting any games any time soon.”
“Yeah, I know. I know,” I mutter, pulling up to a stop on the thirty.
Trey looks at me funny where I’m lagging at the back of the crew. I’m usually front and center, first to arrive. “Colt, you okay, man?
Tyus grins at him. “He’s tired.”
“Seriously?”
“Long night?” Kurtis asks from my right.
I look him solidly in the eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. You know how it is.”
“That’s rough.”
“Brutal.”
Olynyk shoves me roughly in the shoulder. “Tonight we’ll all come over and sing you a lullaby.”
“Can I get a warm milk?”
He chuckles, nodding to Hibbert. “Eric will breastfeed you.”
Hibbert smiles, lifting his jersey up over his massive, white belly, heading for his man boobs.
“No, no, no!” we all cry together.
“Is this a huddle or a strip club?!” Coach Allen barks from the sidelines. “Get your asses in gear!”
Hibbert lowers his shirt, blowing me a kiss. “We’ll talk later, baby.”
I reach for a pithy comeback.
A funny one liner.
Maybe a retort of any fucking kind?
I got nothin’. My brain is closed for business, all non-essential functions shut down. I’m lucky I’m still walking and breathing.
The guys line up for the play, facing off with our defensive line. I take my place to the right of and behind Trey. I’m not touching the ball in this play so I bounce on my feet lightly, trying to wake up. Killing time. We’re three hours into practice. Less than one more and I can go home. Forget the showers, I’m going to pass out in my bed with my stink on strong. Maria will have to forgive me when she changes the sheets. I wonder what she’s making for lunch. Am I even going to have the energy to eat any of it?
Nah, screw it. I can always eat. I might even stop on the way home. Swing by the Mad Batter and grab—
“Colt!” Trey shouts at me. “What the hell are you doing?!”
The line crashes together ahead of me, but Trey is holding onto the ball screaming at me. He shuffles back, his red jersey flapping in the wind like a flag.
I check the formation. It’s not the one I thought it was going to be. I was thinking of the wrong play.
“Fuck!”
I break into a sprint toward Trey but I’m too late. He’s had the ball for too long. Maybe four seconds, but anything beyond that is an eternity behind the line. No matter how good the O line is, any defensive lineman remotely worth his bloated paycheck is going to get through a crack.
I’m halfway to him when Trey gives up on me. The pocket is closed. Gone. He has to throw. He spots Anthony downfield and launches a spiral dead center into the guy’s chest. Tyus wraps his arms around it tightly as his coverage closes in.
They take him down easily, almost gently. No one is looking to injure anyone today. It’s why Trey is wearing the red jersey while the rest of us are in white. It screams at us to keep our hands off the merchandise. The quarterback is too valuable to lose to a mistake in practice.
A running back, on the other hand…
I feel the collision coming the way you know when someone is standing behind you. They’re in your space when they shouldn’t be and it gives you the creeps. Only this doesn’t freak me out, it knocks me on my ass. I sprawl out on the turf with the sun in my eyes and the air forced from my lungs.
“Wake up, bitch!”
I blink, coughing roughly. “I hate you, Conlin. I hate you so damn much.”
He laughs as he runs away to line up with the defense.
I roll over on my side, pausing to take a breather. To refill my collapsed lungs.