“Hi, Lolli,” he purrs with a sly smile as I approach.
Yeah… I’d ride it.
When I don’t respond, just gawk at him, he turns his grin to the group behind him then back to me. “You do realize seventh period PE is for the football team, right?”
“It was either this or first with the freshman class.” I peek around him. “Yeah, clearly made the right decision.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
With a chuckle, he moseys on over to the Magic Mike crew-in-training.
There really should be some kind of limit; only so much steaminess allowed in one place. Like a max capacity of muscle mass.
I sigh. “I’m gonna go to jail.”
“Jail, huh?”
I look over to find Parker walking up next to me. “Oh, yeah,” I tell him, watching as the guys start stretching their legs, tilting my head to follow their actions. “Definitely.”
He throws his arm over my shoulder, dragging me toward Mr. Prescott, who is now beckoning me with his finger.
“I’ll bail you out,” he says playfully, nudging me. “So, you’re ripe then, huh?”
“More like rancid.”
“Rancid?”
“Yeah, you know, stale, overripe, fucking shriveled.” The last word leaves me on a pout and Parker bends over laughing. I roll my eyes and shrug his arm off my shoulder before making my way over to the teacher.
“Ms. Embers.” He gives a little jerk of his chin. “Have any trouble in the locker room?”
“No sir, I undressed and redressed myself just fine.”
He blinks.
“Ms. Embers, I can handle your wit, but try to remember you’re in a class full of,” he pauses to find the right words, “overly-stimulated young men.” He pulls his brows in. “You might want to refrain from any words that relate to... well, basically anything female-related.”
“Uh...”
“I think that might be a problem, Coach,” Parker says, a teasing edge to his voice. Placing his hands on his hips, he continues, “Lolli here is worse than half these boys.”
Mr. Prescott sighs, pulling his Oakley’s from his salt and pepper hair. “Just keep to the track or the weight room and you’ll be fine.”
“I can do that,” I tell him eagerly.
He looks from me and Parker, to the group of guys behind us, and back to me. Putting his sunglasses on, he turns to leave, mumbling, “This should be interesting.”
I would have to agree.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn and narrow my eyes on the shithead next to me.
“Aww... don’t be mad at me, Lolli Bear. You’re my new favorite person,” he says, as he makes a show of slowly approaching me, as if I’ll pounce, then envelops me in a hug.
“Yeah, well,” I begin with zero enthusiasm, “you’re not so bad yourself.”
I laugh when he playfully gasps in mock appreciation, and hug him back briefly.
“So, how old are you?”
“Eighteen. Nineteen in April.”
Parker’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Shit, I better start saving,” he says seriously.
“Saving?”
“Yup.” He motions to all the hotness surrounding me. “Look around, Lolli. A body like yours surrounded by all these assholes. You’re definitely going to jail.” He barely gets the last word out before he’s bellowed over in laughter at his own dig.
Before I can stop him, he’s calling out, “Hey, dickheads!”
“Is this necessary?” I yell-whisper through my teeth.
He laughs harder.
Dick.
“Raise your beater meter if you’re officially primetime, boys. We’ve got a full-grown, wild-woman on our hands.” He chuckles and I can’t help but laugh, too.
I watch, amazed these guys understood Parker’s bullshit, as a hand goes up here and there, taking note of whose hands are raised, because, well, it’s good to know, right?
Jarrod’s hand is one of the first to rise. He shoots me a wink when I catch his eye. A few other guys I’ve seen throughout the day raise their hands as well.
“Does this mean I’m outta the race for your heart, Lolli?”
I turn to Austin, who has both hands down.
I tilt my head playfully. “Still need mommy to sign your progress reports?”
“Eighteen in May.” He spreads both arms out. “I’m the baby.”
Next, Nate catches my eye. I look down at his hands, then back at his face, raising an eyebrow.
He smirks and takes off down the track. And the fun is over, because as expected, his boys follow.
I squeal when Parker smacks my ass and takes off. Spinning around, he starts with a backward jog. “It’s okay, Lolli Bear.” He smiles wide. “That party you cut out on this weekend…” I nod my head, my eyes narrowing slightly. “That was my birthday party.” Laughing, he turns and takes off full sprint to catch up to the group.
I laugh and drop down to finish the last of my stretches.
I take a minute to watch the team, observing how well disciplined they are, even in something as simple as group laps.
Four lines, single file, even speeds. All hanging back, running in place when someone falls behind; a pat on the shoulder or a gentle push in the back where encouragements needed.
It’s a beautiful thing to watch, the camaraderie.
A true smile hints at my lips for the briefest of moments before it’s gone.
I breathe in and out before taking off, entering the land of free winds and piercing silence. A place free of judgment and expectation and…emotion. Stone cold numbness. It’s all right foot, left foot, back straight, eyes forward. Distance. Point A to point B.
Pure nothingness.
Perfection.
Walking out of the girl’s locker room, I head straight toward Mia’s Jeep.
She’s sitting on the hood talking to a couple of people, but as soon as she spots me, she waves them on, and smirks.
That’s never good.
“Hey, hoochie,” she says slyly.
I cross my arms, narrow my eyes, and wait.
She huffs. “Fine, I heard you and Nate have a,” she wiggles her eyebrows up and down, “date this afternoon. That didn’t take long.” She looks mighty pleased with herself.
“Wow, word really travels fast around here,” I tell her, my annoyance obvious. “And fuck no, we don’t. That guy from my government class, Jarrod Hollins -”
“Ooh,” she cuts me off. “He’s a good one.”
I ignore her, and continue. “Asked me out and Nate ruined it.”
“Well,” she leans back, propping herself onto her elbows. “Word is, Nate’s taking you home after practice today.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“Hope you’re ready to tell him that.” She tips her chin, motioning behind me.
With a huff, I turn to see him closing in. I go ahead and let my eyes rake over him.
His track pants have been traded for a pair of black football pants.
I was right about the thighs; nice and strong.
“Give me your bag, I’ll throw it in the Hummer, and then you can come watch me practice.” He says it like he’s talking to an old friend and this is routine.
I gape at him for a few seconds. “Huh?”
He reaches out and tugs on my shoulder strap. “I’ll put this up for you,” he says again, placing his hands on his hips casually.
“You’re delusional if you think this is happening,” I snap.
“Don’t be difficult, Kalani,” he huffs.
He fucking huffs, like I am being unreasonable.
I drop my bag on the ground and push a finger into his chest. “Listen hotshot, I get it. You’re used to being the shot caller around here, but I,” I motion to myself, “am not from around here.”
“You not a woman of your word, Ms. Embers?” he asks, a cute, I’d say innocent, if I didn’t know any better, smile on his lips.
I stomp my foot, like a
damn child. “I never said I’d go with you.”
“Flip on it.” He raises a dark brow.
“I…what?” I hear Mia giggle from behind me, clearly enjoying this shit.
“Come on, it’s mostly fair.” He nods to Mia, and the bitch tosses him a quarter.
Because she just happened to have one in her hand?
“This is dumb. Fine. Whatever.” I roll my eyes, propping my hip against the side of the Jeep.
He lets out a deep chuckle. “Alright, heads I win, tails you lose.”
I purse my lips, nodding.
He throws the quarter up and it lands on tails. Mia starts laughing and hops off her hood.
“Guess I’ll see you later, Lolls,” she grins, jumping into her Jeep and turning it on. She shakes her head, her brows high into her hairline. “I can’t believe you fell for that,” she giggles, dropping her shades into place. "Byyee.” The bitch speeds off, officially leaving my ass high and dry.
“What just happened?” I ask, utterly confused.
Nate smirks, a deep, dangerous, naughty smirk, and completely ignores me. Bending down, he grabs my bag, throws it over his shoulder, and heads back toward the field. “No time to put this away. Coach will lay me out if I’m late.”
He keeps walking while I stand frozen in place, trying to figure out what the fuck just went down.
He’s about halfway across the parking lot when my mouth falls open in shock, then quickly transforms into a huge smile. “You tricked me, you little shit!” I shout, laughing all the while.
He doesn’t turn around but throws his head back on a laugh.
I catch up to him and shove him lightly in the shoulder. “That was damn good, Nathaniel Monroe. Damn good,” I tell him, a smile still on my lips.
He shrugs. “My dad used to pull that shit on me. For the longest time, I thought it was luck, or a trick coin or something, because he always won. Took me a whole summer of yard work before I finally figured it out.” He chuckles.
He walks up a few stairs and sets my bag down on the first bench seat in the bleachers. “All right, I gotta get out there.” He looks over his shoulder at the boys warming up on the field, then back to me. “You,” he points a stern finger, “stay put. You wanted bad TV and junk food? That’s what you’re getting.”
My nose wrinkles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
He smiles, all cocky like. “You did.”
“Uh-huh,” I tease, “and you’re sure this is about what I wanted, and not about you, how did Austin put it…” I tilt my head and place a finger to the corner of my mouth. “That’s right,” I snap my fingers. “About how you have to be the first to get ‘acquainted’ with the women in this town.”
“Well, I couldn’t let Jarrod beat me to it, now could I?” he smirks.
I cross my arms, feeling irritated all over again, remembering how he stepped in where he wasn’t wanted. “That was fucked up.”
“I’m much better, trust me.”
“I doubt it,” I shoot back.
He steps forward, his dark eyes blazing with intensity.
“Monroe!” We both turn toward the field to see Mr. Prescott’s clipboard-clad hand raised as he uses his other to point at his watch.
I turn back to him, only to find he’s already halfway down the stairs.
I debate grabbing my bag and walking home. That, or calling Mia’s bitch ass and making her come back to get me. But I do neither. No, I play the good little servant girl, listening to the words of a man-boy on a power trip and sit my ass down.
Shrugging to myself, I decide I’m going to enjoy this for my own selfish reasons. Hot athletes in tight pants, grinding, pushing, and engaging in the most intricate dance of all.
Football is an art, really. A hand-selected bunch, each for very different reasons, pieced together to form the biggest and best, most in sync, combination of fight and fury. There’s nothing gentle about the way these boys work.
The boys line up. The QB, Nate, calls out, letting them know what he needs of them. They get into position; a typical pass formation of five down linemen and four receivers, but at the last second, the defensive line shifts right.
“Interesting,” I mutter to myself, leaning forward slightly.
The ball snaps and Nate drops back, plants his back foot, and steps forward into the pocket ready to fire the ball, but my eyes zone in on the line. I watch as the O-tackle and guard are forced to step left into their gaps to cover their blocks. This leaves a gap in the center, a perfect opening for the middle linebacker to swoop in and make the sack, easy as pie. Only he doesn’t. A wide smile takes over my lips.
It’s a test run.
A perfect setup.
I don’t see the throw, but when the offense cheers, I know the pass was successful. I laugh, knowing what’s coming.
The boys set up, now at the sixty-one. One, two, hut, but this time the D-line shifts left.
“Here it comes,” I whisper, my leg bouncing in anticipation.
And sure enough, the offense doesn’t see what’s happening until the right outside linebacker swoops in and takes down their QB.
“Sack.” I smirk at my perception.
Nate hops up, brushes it off, and lines his boys up again.
He’s running a hurry up offense, so I’m almost positive he didn’t evaluate that last play, which means it’s bound to happen again.
As if on cue, same play, same result. He lets out a loud curse as he huffs back into position for the third time, now set back to the fifty. I sneak a peek at Mr. Prescott and he’s got his hand covering his mouth, a deep frown creasing his forehead, but he’s not making any corrections.
What the hell?
My anger rises as I prepare for the same conclusion.
I’m on my feet as soon as the ball’s snapped. I hear the roars of the boys, the defense fired up, and the O-line cursing and barking about preserving their quarterback, but I’m on a mission.
I stomp right up to Mr. Prescott and jut my hip out. “What the hell, Mr. P.!”
He does a double take before resting his scowling face on me. “Ms. Embers, what the hell are you doing on my field?”
I ignore him. “Why do you keep letting him run that? He’s getting nailed every time!” I shout. He eyes me, but as soon as Nate calls out, his gaze zips back to the field.
If he’s not going acknowledge me, I’m giving his ass my play by play.
“Balls on the forty-four, because he’s losing yards. QB’s running a no huddle hurry up offense, i.e., no time to adjust coverage. It’s an obvious pass play formation.” Mr. P. cuts me an irritated look out of corner of my eye. “Ball’s down and ready, but look at your defense.” I point. “The defensive line shifts left. Watch your offensive tackle,” I rush to say, just as it plays out in front of us. The O-tackle blocks the outside gap, leaving the inside gap open for the middle linebacker to swoop in and make the sack. Again.
“See!” I yell, turning back to Mr. Prescott, who is gaping at me.
“The offensive line needs to be able to spot these things at first go-round. I mean,” I scoff, “how much more obvious could it be, really? They set the shit up perfect, first play.” My hands are flailing all around. “A standard play across the board, with zero adjustment, and the D-line shifts?” I tilt my head. “Seriously? It was perfectly executed on the offensive side; boys rush in, receiver’s deep, and free of coverage. All was good, except the obvious brilliance from your D was overlooked.
“And it worked!” I take a deep breath and look up at Mr. P., who’s looking at me like I sprung two heads.
“What?”
“How the hell did you read that?”
My gaze snaps to the field to see Parker walking toward me, a huge, proud papa bear smile on his face. I take note of the embroidered C near his right shoulder. “Defensive captain?” I quirk a brow, a grin taking over my face.
“You know it, baby,” he laughs. “Playing safety allows me to see everything. Helps me spot t
he gaps.”
“Okay, Hero.” I nod, then jerk my chin toward the field. “That your play?”
“It was. First time trying it out.” He unsnaps his chin strap, pulls his helmet off, and wipes the sweat from his forehead with his wrist.
He squints one eye. “Was it really that easy to read?”
A cackle bubbles out of me. “Obviously not. It worked... like, five times,” I tell him.
He nods, his grin growing. “Good.”
“That test run,” I point to the field. “That was good. Perfect, really. They didn’t see it coming. Test one way, execute another. Keep ’em guessing.” I nod, thoroughly impressed.
Parker leans in, his warm breath close to my ear. “That’s ‘cause I’m smooth as silk, Lolli Bear. Smooth as silk,” he whispers, making both of us laugh.
“I have no idea what’s happening right now,” Mr. Prescott says, his irritation evident.
We both look over at him.
He points at Parker. “Not sure why your helmet is off your head or why you’re over here.” He turns the finger on me. “And you… hell, I don’t know what to say to you.” He scratches at his chin, eyes narrowed. “Embers, huh?” he inquires.
“Uh, yeah,” I answer hesitantly, but still looking him in the eye.
His lip twitches and he looks away, nodding.
My gaze returns to the field to find the entire team’s eyes on me. Curious if he’s shooting daggers at me, I sneak a quick peek at Nate, finding him simply watching me, intrigued.
I cup my mouth with my hands. “Well, you all heard the get down.” I turn to the O-tackle. “Okay, number...” oh hey, it’s Austin, “Number Nine, screw the adjustment. Stay on your guy, no matter what. It’s all an illusion. A mind fuck, if you will. Obviously, we’re hoping the opposing team won’t see it, but you guys need to be prepared in case someone comes at you with a similar play. Let’s see it in action.” I shove Parker in the shoulder. “Get out there, Hero.” I shoot him a wink.
He laughs and plants a sweaty kiss on my cheek, before jogging back on the field.
“You heard the boss lady. Line it up, boys,” Parker calls out and everyone gets into position, the offense now knowing what’s coming.
“Wait!” I wail.
“God damn it, Embers,” Mr. P. barks, hitting his leg with his clipboard in frustration.
Fumbled Hearts (A Tender Hearts Novel) Page 5