“You dropped three passes yesterday.”
“One,” Dax argues.
“Three.”
“Reese, are you obsessed with me? Why do you keep counting my passes?”
“Because you keep talking about them.”
We reach the sidelines as the rest of the team starts filtering into position.
Dax glances toward Coach Masters, lowering his voice. “Seriously, though. You good?”
“Yeah.”
Reese studies me for a second like he knows I’m lying but won’t call me out on it. “He’s been riding you hard.”
“He rides everyone hard.” I glance over and see he’s now giving Owen the same motivational talk he gave me. Only Owen doesn’t look like he’d even consider talking back.
Dax grimaces. “Yeah, well. At least he hasn’t made Owen cry today. That’s progress.”
My jaw tightens slightly, because the fucked-up part is I can’t even tell if he’s joking.
Reese notices my expression immediately and elbows Dax in the ribs. “Nice.”
“What?” Dax says defensively. “I’m trying to lighten the mood before Evans goes full murder quarterback on us.”
“I’m not going to murder anyone.”
“Okay, but if you did,” Dax says thoughtfully, “I feel like Coach would deserve it a little.”
I roll my eyes, still watching Coach and Owen’s interaction. Owen’s looking down at the ground, nodding as though everything that man says is right.
“Noted,” I say.
“There he is,” Dax says, throwing his arms around me. “That’s the look of a man ready to throw me at least twelve touchdowns today.”
“Twelve?” Reese scoffs. “You’d pass out after four.”
“Correct,” Dax nods seriously. “But what a way to go.”
A whistle blasts across the field.
“Offense!” Coach Masters bellows. “Move your asses!”
Dax immediately straightens. “And there goes my dream of becoming emotionally fulfilled.”
Reese shakes his head, already jogging toward position. “You don’t even know what emotionally fulfilled means.”
“Neither does Coach,” Dax mutters.
I snort quietly and pull my helmet on as we jog onto the field.
Practice ends two hours later with the defense looking like they just got dragged through hell.
Sweat drips down my neck as I tug my helmet off, breathing hard while the whistle blows for the final time. Around me, guys start heading toward the sidelines, exhausted and irritated after another brutal session.
Coach Masters isn’t finished, though.
