Roman takes off down the field and I step back with my left foot, keeping my feet staggered as I bend slightly at the knees. I raise my left arm over my shoulder, bringing the football behind my head before snapping it forward, focusing on rolling my left shoulder as I do. Fuck. It takes all my concentration to get the ball pointed where I need it to go.
The ball whistles through the air, heading straight for Roman, but as soon as he turns to spot the football, I realize my mistake and curse. Too short.
“Dammit.” I kick the turf and tear off my helmet, frustration coursing through me.
Roman jerks to a stop before lunging forward to salvage the throw. He manages to catch the ball with both hands, tucking it against his chest before rolling to the ground. His momentum throws him into a complete rotation before he springs up to his feet, a bounce in his step over the save. “Fuck, yeah!” he hollers, and jogs back toward me, ball in hand.
“Not bad, man.” He throws the football at me and I catch it, fingers gripping the laces.
“That was a shit throw and you know it.”
He offers a noncommittal shrug. “Progress at least. And did you see that save? Perfección.”
“English asshole. I’m black. Not brown like you.”
He smirks. “Perfection.”
True enough, and with Roman as my receiver, we have a shot at pulling this off, but it won’t matter if I can’t get my left arm to go the distance.
Coach called me in for an emergency meeting. I dropped E off on the way but Roman decided to tag along. Nosy bastard. The team doctor took it upon himself to inform our coach of a recent injury. Fucking snitch. If I wanted Coach to know about my shoulder, I would have told him myself.
“You could always sit this next one out,” Rome offers, but I shake my head.
“You know I can’t.” Our second string quarterback—Deacon Hunt—is a freshman without any experience playing at this level. The guy is green. He came from a small school in the middle of nowhere and while he has a great arm, he buckles under pressure. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t care. The point of bringing him on board is to train with him, get him where he needs to be so that by the time I graduate next year, he’s ready and can lead the team. He’s got potential and he needs the field time if he’s going to grow, but next week we have scouts coming and they’re expecting me to play.
If word gets out I’m injured and won’t be on the field, there’s a chance some of the scouts, maybe all, won’t show. I could care less if anyone sees me play, but the other guys on the team, they need as many opportunities as they can get to shine so they have a shot at going pro. I won’t be the reason they lose that.
“Let’s go again,” I tell Roman and he nods, getting into position, but before he starts, a voice from the sidelines draws our attention.
“Price!” Coach yells. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I grind my teeth together and wait as he stalks across the field like a bull. Barely six feet and thick around the middle, it’s been a hot minute since the man was in his prime, but he still has no problem going toe to toe with any one of us. When he’s within earshot without me needing to yell, I tell him, “Practicing, Coach.”
“Practicing what, exactly? I gave you explicit orders to rest and—”
“I’m not throwing with my right,” I tell him. “I’m using my left. I’ll be good in time for next week’s game.” I have to be.
His brows pull together and I know he wants to fight me on it, but he’s aware of the situation we’re in just as much as I am.
“Repetitive motion tendonitis is no joke, son. If you don’t take care of that arm, you can end your career before it ever starts.”
“And if I don’t play in next week’s game, the guys on my team may find themselves in the same boat.”
He takes off his red Suncrest U baseball cap and shakes his head. “They’re not your responsibility. There will be more scouts, more opportunities—”
“For Davis and Elliot?” I ask, cutting him off. “They’re seniors. They won’t have many more chances like this.” I know it. He knows it. Hell, even the guys know it, which is why so much is riding on this game. Elliot’s a defensive tackle and Davis is a defensive end and they’re both good. Better than good. But that won’t matter if no one sees them play. They transferred in as seniors from smaller schools hoping to get some face time with scouts, but they’re no-name players. Scouts aren’t coming to watch them because they’ve never heard of them. Their best shot is to kill it on the field and have one of the already scheduled scouts recognize their potential and invite them to the NFL Scouting Combine.
Coach mutters under his breath before rubbing his jaw. “How’s your right arm feel when you throw with your left?”
It twinges a bit, but I’m not telling him that. “No pain. It’s all good.”
He considers me for a moment. “What’s your range?”
“So far, fifty-two yards,” Roman answers for me.
Coach works his jaw. “How long have you been practicing?”
“Since we got out.” If I had to guess, that was maybe an hour ago.
He nods to himself. “Alright. We’ll try it your way. I want you out of training and practice for the next three days to rest.”
I open my mouth to argue. No way can I take three days off if I’m going to get where we need me to be. We’re playing Rydeville U. They’re a solid team, and while I’ve always forced myself to throw with both arms, I’m right handed. Throwing consistently with my left isn’t a cakewalk for me. I need the practice. “Coach—”
“Three days!” He waves three fingers in my face as if I need a visual. “After that, you throw and you do cardio. That’s it. No weights and nothing that can strain your right shoulder. You practice with your left arm and only your left arm. I catch you so much as tossing a towel with your right and I’ll bench you. Understood?”
I grit my teeth but nod. I know a losing battle when I see one. Coach is an alright guy. He puts the players’ health and well-being first so I have no doubt he’ll bench me, even if it means we lose next week’s game.
“Good. If this is day one for you and you’re already at fifty-two yards, you’re ahead of Hunt. We’ll make this work. But, if you have a bad performance next week, you might screw your own chances of being drafted early and some of these guys might even decide to look you over next year when the time comes. You prepared to take that risk?”
I nod. Football after college isn’t in the cards for me. No matter how bad I may want it. My parents would never stand for it, and despite what some might believe, my parents do in fact have both the money and the means to ensure I go down the path they’ve carved out for me. This isn’t one of those scenarios where I can call their bluff.
Sheridan Peretti Price and Richard Price have enough clout that they’ve landed themselves on the Business Insiders top ten most influential businesses in the United States six years running. As the founders of Peretti and Price, a multi-billion dollar tech company, they rub elbows with everyone from CEOs to celebrities and grossed over one hundred and eighty-two billion dollars last year alone. Yes, billion. Not million.
The amount of money my parents would need to throw around to ensure no team picked me up is barely a drop in the bucket to them. So no, I’m not worried about fucking up my own chance. I never had a real one to begin with. “It’s worth the risk, Coach.”
“Have it your way. Now get your asses home and rest. Valdez, keep an eye on him, and if I get wind that you or Chavez are on the field with him these next three days, I’ll make you both run so many drills you’ll be begging to be benched, do I make myself clear?”
Rome nods. “Crystal.”
“Good. Get out of here.”
Coach stalks off the field toward the locker room and we head the opposite direction toward the parking lot. “You good, man?” Roman asks once we reach our vehicles.
I nod. “I’m good.”
He hesitates, which isn’t like him, so I spit out, “What?” only to see him frown.
“What was up this morning?”
“What do you mean?” I open my door and lean against the frame. I have a feeling I know where this is going and I don’t like it.
“With Baby Henderson. If she’d asked us to help her move in, we would have. The girl’s one of us but …” he trails off and shakes his head, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair.
“You’re reading too much into it,” I tell him, hoping he drops it.
He doesn’t. “Nah. I don’t think I am. Where’s your head at these days? I know you had a thing for her back in high school, but—’
I cut him off before he has a chance to finish. “It’s not like that. She’s Aaron’s little sister.”
Roman snorts. “Which meant fuck all when we were in high school and you gawked at her ass every time she walked by.”
“Like I said, you’re reading too much into it. That was three years ago. Things change.”
“Exactly. Have you seen her lately? Kasey’s is all grown up and she’s filled out in all the right places. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”
I lift a single brow. “Allie know you’ve been checking Kasey out?”
He chuckles. “No cabrón, because I’m not. But I’m not blind and neither are you. The girl has grown up. A lot. Tension with you two has always been thick, but lately …” He trails off, giving me a knowing look.
I shake my head. “Nah, man. Things between us are not like that. I can barely stand the girl so, no, I don’t fucking like her. Not the way you’re suggesting. Whatever you’re picking up on is just our usual shit. We get under each other’s skin. That’s all.” I might have the occasional fantasy about fucking her to see if it would make her more tolerable, but I don’t let my dick dictate my decisions.
“I was just helping Aaron out. You and E didn’t have to come,” I add, needing to end this conversation before he gets any ideas.
He gives me an incredulous look. “Really? That’s the bullshit you’re gonna try and feed me right now?”
“Drop it, man. I’m telling you, I’m not interested. Sue me. I get a kick out of riling the girl up. I saw an opportunity and I took it. That doesn’t mean I want her.” Though I wouldn’t mind her on her knees for me, mouth open and—Fuck. Drop that line of thinking before you get your ass in trouble.
Roman levels me with an incredulous look. “I’m one of your best friends, cabrón. I’m not buying what you’re selling. I know you better than that.”
I let out a tired breath. “Ro, she’s just a kid, not even eighteen yet. And you know how I am with females. You really think I’m gonna fuck myself over by trying to get a piece of her?’ I shake my head. ‘I’m not that dumb. Allie, Bibiana, and Monique would all have my ass if I fucked things up with Kasey.’
“So don’t fuck it up, then. Give shit a real try. bro. You two have been going at it since senior year. You know there’s something there. Everyone else can see it. Why can’t you?”
“Because there isn’t anything to see.”
His stare is penetrating as I wait for him to concede the point.
“Is this because of Aaron?’ he asks. “You know he’d come around.”
“No, fucker. This is because of me. What part of ‘I’m not interested’ do you not understand?” He opens his mouth to argue but I cut him off. “I don’t want hearts and rainbows with any female, let alone Kasey-fucking-Henderson, okay? You’re wifed up and I’m happy for you, man. For E too. But I’m only interested in a tight piece of ass and a hot lay and Kasey isn’t who I plan on getting that from.’ I make my words especially crude, hoping he gets the point. “So stop pushing. If shit changes and I decide to fuck her, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.’
His face hardens, and I can see the second we go from conversation mode to lecture mode. “Don’t even think of going there,’ he warns.
‘I’m not,” I grind out. “You’re the one suggesting—“
The lines around his mouth tighten. ‘If I have to kick your ass because you—’
I bark out a laugh. ‘Go home to your woman. Kasey’s made it her mission to get under my skin. All I’m doing is returning the favor. Stop reading into nothing. We’re good.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but finally nods. ‘Fine. You going back to ADPi?’
I should, but if I go back now, it’ll give Roman the wrong idea. ‘Nah. I’m heading home. Gotta ice my shoulder and shit. I’ll catch you later.’
‘Later, cabrón.’
I flip off my best friend as I climb into my Escalade, put it in reverse and head for home. I pass by Greek Row and tighten my grip on the wheel until I make it to my street, three short blocks from where Kasey is living now.
Fuck. I need to get my head on straight. I’m not commitment material, and there are too many obstacles in the way, so why is it that the idea of getting past them all makes my dick twitch and brings a smile to my face?
