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“I’m planning on seeing a lot more of you now.” My hand skims the side of her breast and her lips curve into a shy smile. I lean forward, seizing her mouth in a long, hungry kiss before reluctantly pulling away.
“I’ll see you tonight, either way.” Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, I gently tug on her earlobe. “Promise.”
She rises on tiptoe and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “You’ve got this. Text me afterwards and let me know how it goes. So I can be prepared, either way.”
“I will.”
“Good luck and Godspeed.”
“Thanks, Trouble.”
I have a feeling I’m gonna need it.
I debate the best time to talk to Coach the rest of the afternoon. Ideally, I’d love to get the conversation over with. But that’s probably not the smartest approach here. He’s doing me a solid, letting me practice with the team, coaching me through my crisis. It’d be uncool of me to bust in and blow up his afternoon session, distract him from the task at hand. I decide to wait until practice is over to have our chat.
“Crawford! Don’t just stand there, get going!” Coach yells at me from across the field, twirling his finger in the air to indicate the laps I’m supposed to be running.
Immediately, I break into a jog, already lagging behindthe rest of the team. Sloane has me good and distracted, which is far from ideal. I need to get my head back in the game or I’ll be proving Coach’s point before he even gets a chance to make it.
The blazing summer sun beats down on the track and I’m dripping in sweat by the time I finish running the warm-up. At least I caught up to the team—it wouldn’t do for me to come in dead last, even at practice.
Coach blows his whistle and we all huddle around him, waiting for instructions.
“Defense—you’re running drills with Coach Mack. Special teams, head over to the bleachers to work with Coach McGilly. Offense, you’ll be working with Coach Baker this afternoon. I’m taking Dalton, Langley, Stevens, and Crawford.” Coach blows the whistle again, breaking the huddle. Then he motions for the four of us to follow him to the far end of the field.
We dutifully trail behind him. Dalton chats with the other kid, while Langley and I stay silent. I’m trying to keep my attention on football and Langley’s tense, his jaw tight.
“Alright, y’all. Tonight we’re mixing it up. Dalton, you’re with Crawford. Langley, you’ll be with Stevens. Same drills we’ve been doing, different partners. Any questions?” Coach looks to each of us, but none of us speak up. “Okay, then. Let’s get going.”
He tosses Dalton and Langley each a football and we pair off, heading into our respective positions. Stevens and I jog across the field, lining up opposite each other. Langley and Dalton take their spots and we start the drills.
I miss the first ball by a solid ten yards.
“What the—?” Dalton throws his arms up in exasperation, frowning so hard I can see it all the way down here.
“Sorry, man,” I apologize weakly.
Get it together, Crawford.
Dalton shakes his head before firing a perfect spiral in my direction. I jump for it, mercifully making contact. Coach scribbles something on his clipboard before feeding Dalton another ball.
Three more passes, each one perfect, and I catch them all. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Langley bobble his next throw and my gut clenches. I shouldn’t have favorites, but I really don’t like this Dalton kid. I want Langley to get the starting QB position.
“Yo, Crawford! You ready or what?” Dalton hollers at me, bringing my focus back to him and the drills we’re supposed to be running.
“Ready!” I shout, running my sweaty palms down my shorts.
My mind drifts to Sloane and how I’m about to tell Coach I want to date his daughter. I sincerely hope he leaves it at that and doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.
Will he? If he does, what am I going to say? Yes, Coach, I want to drill your daughter, fast and hard until she screams my name.
SMACK.
The ball hits me square in the chest, knocking the air from my lungs. Coach tweets his whistle as I clutch at my pec and try to rub the pain away.
“Take five and get some water, boys! Crawford, you okay?” He adjusts his ball cap, turning it backwards on his head. I nod.
“Fine. Just a little dehydrated is all.” I amble over to the bleachers and chug water from the gallon jug I brought with me.
