Page 12 of Contested

Sebastian shot Marcos a look he couldn’t quite see from a distance. Though, the following middle finger was enough to go on.

“Clearly, he doesn’t want a spot.” Marcos shrugged, facing Parker.

He laughed. “You know, niceness doesn’t cost a dollar.”

“Yeah, but I can’t all of a sudden be nice to him. What if he thinks I want to be his friend?”

“That’s why the finger trap is good.”

“Eh, then I’d have to watch him pee.”

“You look like someone who’d be into that.”

Marcos’ mouth pulled tight, and his brow knotted. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Parker laughed again before shoving Marcos’ shoulder and starting the course again as their assistant trainer blew their whistle.

Marcos watched him go, arms loose at his sides while Parker hit the first cone too wide and had to correct with a stuttering step. He was quick when he got moving, but his turns were messy.

Marcos glanced back at Sebastian.

He was running through his own course now, head slightly lowered, body tight and controlled without looking stiff. He hit the first marker cleanly, planted his right foot, shifted left, and drove through the next section without losing speed. The assistant trainer at his station had his clipboard tucked against his chest, watching closely. By the time Sebastian circled back to the start, the trainer was nodding.

Marcos pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

That was annoying.

“Alright, everyone.” Jacob’s voice cut through the air. “One more run through your courses, then we’re moving onto sprints.”

Parker came jogging back, sweat darkening his shirt and a grin still sitting on his face. Marcos stepped past him without waiting for another comment.

His own run through the course started clean. He took the first turn hard enough to make his studs tear slightly at the turf, corrected his balance, then pushed through the lateral steps with his arms driving low and controlled. The course was built for smaller players. That was what he told himself when the second tight turn came too quickly and forced him to cut his stride short. Still, he got through it without clipping a cone, which already put him above Parker.

On the final sprint, he was able to open up. He crossed the line, slowed with a few heavy steps, and turned back toward the group.

The assistant trainer gave him a small nod, and Marcos clicked his tongue.

That wasn’t good enough.

Jacob blew his whistle and called everyone off the courses and to gather near him.

Players started heading toward the far stretch of grass where the sprint lanes had been set up. Three lanes were marked out with cones, with tape laid out over the start and finish. Another assistant stood with a stopwatch, while Jeremy checked something on a clipboard beside him. Marcos rolled his shoulders as they crossed over, feeling the morning’s work settle into his calves.

As they strode over to the starting line, the team were split into three groups of three.

Marcos and Parker were put together. Then Sebastian joined them. The three of them ended up near the middle lane, waiting while the first group took their positions.

Sebastian was stretching out his thighs and rolling his neck when Marcos came to stand beside him.

“Oh, hey, Marcos,” Sebastian said, straightening himself and pulling his shoulders back. “In case you didn’t see before.” He held up his middle finger and shoved it close enough to Marcos’ face that it got slapped away.

“Yeah, it was kinda tough to see.” Marcos dropped his gaze to Sebastian’s hands. “You’ve got such dainty hands. I’m surprised they can hold onto the ball.”

“Is ‘dainty’ really the word you want to use?”

“Pretty sure.” Marcos nodded. “I learned it from a book.”

“Yeah. Like you can read,” Sebastian muttered, staring ahead at the path they’d be running down.