by Cassie Cole
“I’m going to Danny’s house,” I said.
“Oh snap!” Aly exclaimed. “Get it, girl!”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure it isn’t. Wink wink.”
“It’s not funny if you have to say wink,” I pointed out.
“But if I don’t say it, how will you know I’m winking? Oh! Tell Lance I say hi. And then tell him I want to thank him for taking care of me last night. I’d like to receive his pass, if you know what I mean. Wink wink.”
“He’s the wide receiver, Aly. Which means he does the catching.”
“Gross. Fine. Have fun. And hey, bring back some fried rice from Chang’s on your way back? If you do come back tonight.”
“I’ll be back tonight,” I said with an exasperated laugh.
I reached Danny’s house and knocked on the front door. He opened the door almost immediately, like he was waiting. He wore the same sweatpants and T-shirt from earlier in the day.
“Long time no see,” he said, waving me inside.
“You look exactly how I left you.”
“Hey, don’t judge, Babs,” Lance said from the couch. “This is our only day off. If my man wants to lounge around in sweatpants, that’s his business.”
“No judgement,” I said. “Wait. Babs?”
“Babs. You know. Short for Roberta.”
“I’m pretty sure that nickname is for Barbara, not Roberta. By the way, Aly told me to tell you that she wants to thank you for taking care of her. She wants to receive your pass.”
Feña came walking in and busted out laughing. “She does know Lance is a receiver, not a quarterback, yes?” he said as he sat on the couch.
“Accuracy should never get in the way of good sexual innuendo,” I replied.
“Tell her I’m flattered, but I don’t get involved with the girls I rescue. It would taint the whole thing, ya know?”
“Oh, so now it is rescuing?” Feña said in his smooth accent. He turned to me. “This is what happens when you allow his head to get too large.”
I laughed and turned back to Danny. “Do you want to go somewhere to talk about your text?”
Danny crossed his muscular arms over his chest and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Actually, this involves them too.”
I frowned at the other two football players. “What, are the three of you going to march into Coach Mueller’s office and threaten to quit the team if he doesn’t give the trainer position to me?”
Feña laughed nervously, while Lance twiddled his thumbs. “No offense,” Lance said, “but I, uh, don’t know you well enough to throw away my entire football career.”
“Right, of course,” I said, embarrassed. “So what’s this loophole, then?”
Danny nodded firmly. “I spent this afternoon researching the entire work credit program at Appleton. Lots of degrees have that requirement, not just yours. For example, the accounting master’s program requires 12 credit hours of work experience. But the experience doesn’t have to come from a business or school. Contract work qualifies too.”
“Contract work?”
“Sure,” Lance said. “Want to be our physical trainer, Babs?”
I stared, waiting for the punchline of the joke that never came. “Physical trainer?”
“Why not?” Danny said.
“Well, for one thing, work credit hours have to be signed by a manager or supervisor, with submitted timesheets of hours worked. There’s a whole process.”
“I found fringe cases in my research,” Danny explained. “Accounting students who file people’s taxes for work credit. They didn’t have any manager or timesheets, but their credit hours were accepted. The key is that you would have to keep detailed notes of all the work in case the records get audited. And we would all have to sign statements acknowledging the work.”
“Wait, we?” I clarified. “Like, all three of you?”
Feña nodded, which sent his short dark curls swaying. “Being the physical trainer for one athlete is probably inadequate to prove dedicated part-time work experience. But three? Is enough.”
Lance grinned widely. “Whaddaya say, Babs?”
I looked around the room at the three gorgeous football players. “Why are you offering to do this? What do you get out of helping me fake two semesters of work experience?”
“Woah, who said anything about faking?” Lance said.
“We met our new official trainer today,” Danny explained. “Brett. The dude’s clueless. He had no idea what my knee scars were from. Even after I explained it, I’m not sure he even knew what an ACL was.”
Lance made a disgusted face. On a man so handsome, it looked silly. “I asked him about nutrition plans during the season, and Brett just shrugged and told me to keep eating whatever. Can you believe that? Last year we had a trainer who gave us detailed macro targets!”
“With the latest round of budget cuts, Brett is all we have for the entire team,” Feña said. “We require an actual trainer.”
“Exactly,” Danny said. “We need someone to watch our workouts and make adjustments for us. Plus physical examinations, injury prevention, dedicated treatment for any injuries that do arise, and macro-specific nutrition.”
“I’m still not sure I understand the need. You’re all seniors, right?”
“We’re both seniors,” Lance said, gesturing at himself and Danny, “but Feña is a señor.”
Feña rolled his eyes. “This joke was amusing the first eight times you made it. Yes, Roberta, we are all seniors.”
“Then as seniors, you’ve been doing this several years in a row. Surely you all have routines, and experience. Do you really need a physical trainer?”
Danny nodded along. “One thing we’ve all learned with our experience is that things can be tweaked. There’s always something that can be optimized, especially as the season goes on and we battle injuries.”
Feña approached me, his Chilean expression serious. “Two years ago, I could hit a 55-yard field goal. Today I can barely clear 50. Most are around 45. I need help strengthening my leg to regain that distance.”
“What if the coach finds out?” I wondered out loud. “Wouldn’t he be mad you’re seeing someone other than Brett?”
“Don’t care, Babs,” Lance said simply. “We need to stay strong and injury-free all season. We have a real chance of winning our division this year, and I don’t want some freshman pipsqueak jeopardizing that.”
“What if he gets upset at me for inserting myself into a position I’d already been rejected for?”
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t find out,” Danny said soothingly. “And even if he does, it shouldn’t matter. The work credits would go in front of the kinesiology department for approval, not the athletic department.”
I stared dumbly at the three men. It was like being offered my dream job without any catch. A chance to do what I wanted with my degree, and on a small, manageable scale. With far less pressure than a demanding job, or the original position where I’d be managing entire teams of athletes.
Three football players. No commuting to San Antonio. It was the life preserver I’d been waiting for.
And it meant I could stay closer to Danny, too.
I shrugged. “I’m in. How do—”
Lance cheered and ran over to wrap me in a bear hug. He lifted me off the ground and swirled me around like a rollercoaster ride before plopping me back down. “Fucking awesome.”
“We look forward to your assistance,” Feña said, shaking my hand politely. His skin was smooth and his grip strong.
Danny only nodded with a small smile. “I knew you’d say yes.”
“Why, because I have literally no other good options?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. Let’s go over the details.”
We spent the rest of the night sitting down and planning out how the whole thing would work.
11
Fernando
I liked Roberta very much.
She w
as cute, of course. A good body in a tight little package. But she had a fun personality as well. While we discussed everything we wanted from a physical trainer, she handled our boyish jokes and teasing with ease. Nothing seemed to bother her, and I got the impression that she had brothers.
But beyond that, the primary reason I liked her was that she was smart. Technically knowledgeable about physical fitness, nutritional needs at the macro level, and specific weight-lifting routines. When I asked questions, she gave me full answers pulled from a deep well of information in her brain. She was an expert.
The difference was night-and-day compared to Brett. A confused child next to a competent adult.
“I’m especially curious to see what stretches and exercises you do,” she said. Her comment snapped me back to focus—I’d been staring off in thought. Roberta only smiled. “I’ve never worked with someone who comes from a soccer background.”
I blinked in surprise. “You know my background?”
“Sure,” she said, coughing behind her palm. “Your profiles are on the athletic page.”
I grew up playing soccer in Chile. It was the only sport anyone played at my age. I was very good, too, until injuring my hamstring as a teenager. That wasn’t on my athletic page profile, though.
“I am no different than any other athlete,” I said.
“Oh, don’t say that. I bet you’ve got a lot more flexibility than either of these two.”
Lance began to snicker. Roberta rolled her eyes at him.
“Athletic flexibility. Don’t be gross.”
Lance held out his palms. “I didn’t say anything!”
“Soccer players tend to have an interesting blend of fast-twitch and slow-twitch muscles,” Roberta explained. “And greater flexibility in their legs.”
“My routine during morning conditioning is indeed different from the rest,” I said.
“Cause kickers aren’t real football players,” Lance teased.
I smiled. “I seem to remember a game last season where the Appleton Stingers were down three points, and this kicker scored the game-tying field goal.”
“Then we won in overtime,” Danny said.
“Yeah, on a catch from me,” Lance said. He held out his hand for a high-five but none of us obliged him. Finally Roberta took pity on him and gave his hand a little smack.
“Fuck yeah,” Lance said.
Roberta leaned in to me and pretended to whisper, but kept her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t tell the others this, but soccer players are better athletes than football players.”
Lance gasped dramatically. “How dare you!” He lurched to his feet, knocking the kitchen chair over in the process as he pointed at the door. “You can leave. I’ll get my fitness advice from the internet.”
“Our overeager friend is only joking,” I said.
But Roberta stood and stretched, which pushed her breasts out for a pleasant moment. “I need to get going. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, especially if I’m taking on all of this.”
“We’ll see you at conditioning in the morning,” Danny said as he led her to the door.
“Your homework for tonight,” Lance announced, “is to write a list of all the reasons football is superior than soccer. One page, double-spaced.”
Roberta gave him a patronizing smile. “Yes, professor.”
Danny closed the door behind her and sighed. “I’m not sure I expected her to accept our offer.”
“Bro, me neither,” Lance said. “This shit is crazy. You sure you’re not afraid Coach will find out?”
“I don’t care about Coach,” Danny replied. “I care about my own health and well-being. And we’re in better hands with Roberta than Brett.”
I nodded along. On the face of things, it was a true statement. But there was more beneath the surface which concerned me. Danny had a way about him that turned women into mush. A combination of fame, athleticism, good looks, and charm. It was impossible not to like him.
And I’d seen the way Roberta was looking at him tonight.
“Are we certain this is a good idea?”
Both of them turned to me. “Little late to say that now,” Danny said. “The die is cast.”
“That’s fucking Caesar, bro,” Lance said. “Casting them dice and whatnot. Shit’s happening now.”
“I am worried about Roberta and you,” I said quietly. “You slept together last night.”
“And?”
“And,” I said, “what happens next? Will you two try to date? If that ends poorly, will she continue to be our physical trainer? Am I the only one who sees the complexities involved in this?”
“You’re the only one worrying about it,” Lance said. “Chill out, bro.”
I ignored him and focused on Danny. Waiting for a serious response.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he finally admitted. “We hooked up last night. I gave her my number. Maybe there’s more there. We’ll see what happens.”
“We’ll see what happens,” I repeated.
Danny clapped me on the shoulder and gave me that winning smile. The smile he gave the team when he was about to lead a game-winning drive down the football field. “Besides, we know how tough it is during the season. None of us have time for a real relationship.”
“You are right,” I said. “I just hope she knows that.”
12
Roberta
I woke up the next morning excited and motivated. It was simultaneously the first day of school and the first day at a new job. I didn’t even care that I was waking up at 4:00 a.m., several hours earlier than normal. I sang a song in the shower and hummed while brushing my teeth.
Back in high school, I wasn’t a very motivated teenager. I didn’t like school, or the classes themselves, or the teachers. I dreaded waking up in the morning and used every excuse not to have to go.
But things were different once I went to Appleton. Getting to choose my own classes and schedule made all the difference in the world, from a motivation standpoint. I had agency over my own life. This was what I wanted to do.
I packed my bag and practically skipped out of the dorm.
It was strange walking across campus before the sun came up. Everything was deserted on the way to the school gym. When I finally opened the door and strode inside, it was a welcome relief to be bombarded with the sound of exercise and exertion.
The gym was two floors. The bottom floor was filled with exercise equipment and free weights. Squat racks, benches, and trees of barbell plates as far as the eye could see. The second floor was a balcony that opened up into the first floor, with a track that circled the space and then individual rooms branching off.
The Appleton State University football team occupied most of the equipment. 30 or 40 muscular, sweaty men pumping, curling, and squatting to the sound of clinking metal. Within seconds I found Danny over in the corner, spotting Lance while he did squats with a barbell.
He looked over, then smiled at me. I smiled back.
As much as I would have loved to go join them, last night we had decided it was best if I kept my distance so nobody discovered I was their physical trainer. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and rolled a big Bosu ball over to the edge that overlooked the gym equipment below. I pulled out my notebook, then bounced on the ball gently while watching the show below.
Football players were big. It was one of those things you knew intellectually, but it became even more obvious when there were 30 of them pumping iron within sight. Most of the guys wore tank-tops, showing off their enormous arms. It was a symphony of biceps, traps, and sweat.
Because of this, it was incredibly easy to spot Brett. The new trainer was scrawny by comparison, stork-legged as he strode around the gym nodding at individuals. He approached Lance and made a comment, pointing at the squat rack and then motioning with his legs. Lance nodded along, but the moment Brett left, Lance and Danny shared an annoyed look that I recognized even from up here.
This morning, Lance was focusing mostly on squats. Back squats with the back on his shoulders, but then front squats with his elbows out in front of him and the bar resting on his clavicle. When Danny was done spotting, he began an arm circuit which involved bent-over rows with a barbell, and then various secondary movements with dumbbells. I couldn’t be certain from up here, but each dumbbell looked to be at least 80 pounds.
All the while, Feña did his own little exercises on the other side of the gym. He used the leg press machine for a while, three sets of five reps. Then he moved to the pull-up bar and did a series of them, first from shoulder-width apart and then with a wider grip.
I scribbled in my notepad.
It was easy work, not least because the three of them were so sexy. As a kinesiology major, I had an appreciation for the human body. Well, the three of them were like perfect representations of the male form. Lance was tall and muscular, with long limbs that were covered in rippling muscle. Especially his long quadriceps muscles that pressed tight against the inside of his shorts. Danny was a Greek statue, his torso forming a perfect V-shape tapering down to a narrow waist, glistening with sweat. And although he wasn’t as bulging with muscle as the other two, Feña was still sexier than most men you would see walking on the street. Just not in a bulging hey look at my muscles kind of way. More reserved.
Most of the football players were like that, aside from the huge linemen with enormous bellies. But I kept finding myself admiring Danny, Lance, and Feña most of all.
It’s because they’re more than just pieces of meat to me, I thought. I’ve met them before.
And in Danny’s case, we’d done a lot more than just meet.
As they finished their resistance training, one by one the football players came upstairs to do a warm-down around the track. Danny and Feña mostly ignored me aside from a small, knowing smile as they passed. But when it was Lance’s turn, he openly waved at me like a little boy in a school play whose mom was watching.