Page 11 of Over Time Advantage

I scroll through my notifications. Nothing earth shattering until I notice one from the dating app. I thought removing my photos fixed this problem. Until now, I haven’t received a single message since I deleted them. Men are so predictable. Every message has been along the lines of, “Hey, beautiful,” or “Love your eyes, sexy.” Nothing remotely creative.

The man’s username is Nine2Five. I open the notification and can see his profile. There are no photos, but I let out a small laugh at his name. It’s Lloyd Dobler.

Lloyd, you now have my attention.

JETT

“Aspartame is an artificial sweetener found in diet sodas, sugary drinks, dairy products, chewing gum, and all kinds of unnatural foods most people eat,” Beau Fudd explains in his uniquely deep voice as the boys all hang on his every word as though it’s gospel.

The man is a giant. He’s at least six feet, eight inches and three hundred pounds. He’s got short, light hair, and more muscles than I’ve ever seen on a human being. He’s the best defensive player in the league, and I’m blessed to coach him.

“Unfortunately,” he continues, “it’s chemical castration.” He points to the crotch area of his gym shorts. “It damages the cells in your testicles, which reduces testosterone production. Basically, you can’t build as much muscle if you eat that crap.”

“And fuck properly,” Daylen Humblecut proudly announces. “No fake sugar on days that I fuck. Got it.” His lips gradually turn up. “I guess I can’t have fake sugar…any day.” He winks with a smug look on his face.

I sigh at the always odd conversation topics that have permeated our stadium’s weight room. We have a bye week this week, so I gave the guys the entire weekend off. We’re doing a team workout this morning, and then they’re free to enjoy themselves. I know several of them have Layton Lancaster’s wedding on Saturday. A few of them, Daylen and Vance in particular, are extremely close to him.

I adore the guys on my team, but some of the veterans have been with me for a long time, and they hold a special place in my heart. Vance McCaffrey was drafted as the quarterback to replace me when I announced my retirement ten years ago. He’s like a son to me, even resembling me, with a similar build, dark hair, and green eyes. He takes his job seriously and works his ass off every single day. He’s never given me a moment of grief. I wouldn’t be the successful coach I’ve been without him.

We were able to steal Daylen later in that same draft class. His talent was undeniable, but he’s a party boy, and teams were afraid to take a risk on him. He slipped far enough in the draft that we were able to scoop him up in the second round. It was an absolute steal and widely considered the best draft class in franchise history.

Does he party? Yes. Is he immature? Absolutely. Does he drive me insane half the time with his antics? Affirmative. Is he one of the best tight ends to ever play the game? You’re damn right he is. Sometimes his goofy sense of humor drives me mad, but he’s a great player and works his ass off for us.

Despite being opposites in personality and appearance—Daylen has wild blond hair and blue eyes—he and Vance are the best of friends. They have a special chemistry, the kind all quarterbacks dream of.

Beau stares at me and my coffee cup. “Coach, it’s in coffee too. You should quit that stuff. You don’t need coffee to wake up in the morning.”

I stare at him and grumble, “Yeah, well you don’t need a parachute to skydive, but it sure fucking helps.”

Daylen laughs loudly enough to rattle my coffee. I’ve never met a human being with a louder laugh. It stops you in your tracks.

Daylen places his big hand on my shoulder. “Coach, you’re the funniest motherfucker I know.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down. “And you’re hot AF. You’re the full package.”

“What’s AF?” I ask.

“Ummm…after forty,” he assures me.

I narrow my eyes at him, and he grins widely. “I’m not kidding. You’re a hottie, and you’re at an age where you could date women born in both 1979 and 2001.”

I shake my head in disgust. “2001? Are you crazy? Why would I want a girl when I could have a woman?”

He shrugs. “The ladies born in 2001 still have perky boobs. Boobs are very important. You can’t motorboat a woman’s personality.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t know why I bother. As much as I adore Daylen, I equally want to strangle him at times. There’s no bigger womanizer on this team than him. He sleeps with a new woman every night and has no problem walking into the locker room to discuss his sexual conquests. I know boys will be boys, but he takes it to the extreme.

Fudd, on the other hand, is a genius. An actual Mensa genius. He takes classes toward his PhD in the off-season. He’s all about diet and nutrition and their effects on building muscle. Sometimes it’s hard to follow what he says, but mostly it’s just fascinating. He’s always getting the guys to try new things to help build muscle. You can’t argue with the results.

I shake my head at Daylen. “Humblecut, when I enter my birth year, I have to spin that bitch like the wheel of fortune. If a woman doesn’t have to do the same, she’s not for me.”

He chuckles. “I get it. When was your last date, Coach?”

I certainly don’t want to admit just how long it’s been for me. “It’s been a hot minute. I’m not sure I’m cut out for modern dating.”

He nods. “Dating is like grocery shopping. You know what you’re supposed to shop for, but all bets are off when you see something yummy and bad for you.”

The truth is, after Fallon rejected me when I called to ask her out, I went and bought my first iPhone. It’s been a bit of a process getting it set up. The salesman indulged me by helping me turn it on and get the ball rolling, but I struggle with operating it. Pierce won’t help me. I’ll be with Kennedy later today. I’m hoping she’ll teach me what I need to be able to use it properly.

“Ugh, I don’t understand,” I groan in frustration. “There’s nothing to press. There are no buttons.” I continue trying to find a button that isn’t there on my new phone.