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Murphy
By the end of practice Wednesday night, I’ve fucking had it. We were practicing our inside-run defense with our first-team offense tonight when I jacked up my shoulder. I was shedding a block from the guard with my right arm, and my timing was just...off.
At least I still made the tackle with my left arm.
The trainer looked at it, said it’s not a tear, just a pull. Then the sadist massaged it before hooking me up to the electronic stimulation and finally stuck me in an ice bath. My balls might come back out of my body at some point tonight.
Fucking ice bath.
We’ve got one more practice this week before we fly out to Boston on Friday, and I was given a sling and instructions to rest the shoulder as much as possible between now and then.
Yeah. Because that’s an easy thing to do when you’re a linebacker. Not the greatest news when your main job on the team is to tackle the guy with the ball.
Once I’ve changed into grey sweats and my black Crusaders shirt with the sleeves cut off, I realize the guys are gone. Checking my phone, I see they left the field house over an hour ago. Guess my time with the trainer left me lagging behind.
When I walk outside, the air’s changed, and it smells like it’s going to rain. I love this kinda night. I fix my green ball cap low over my eyes and head across campus to where my Escalade is parked.
I’m halfway to the car when I cut in front of Kroydon Hall and look over at the track surrounding the football field. Coming to a halt, I see my princess running on the track...alone. Other people are coming and going, but she’s by herself.
I haven’t seen Sabrina since I slammed the door of her dorm room behind me. I know I’ve enjoyed my time with plenty of willing women, but there’s something about this particular woman that’s different, something that makes a part of me scream mine. I don’t know when that happened, and I don’t know that I’m happy about it. But it’s there, and I can’t deny it.
I have no idea how long I’ve been watching her when those mile-long legs barely covered in short black shorts head in my direction. When she comes to a stop on the other side of the fence, I don’t look up, allowing the brim of my hat to conceal my eyes.
“Hey, Murph.”
“Sabrina.” Jesus, I hate being pissed at her. I hate being pissed at anyone. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does...Fuck this day.
I watch her shift her weight from foot to foot as if she’s nervous to talk to me.
Good.
I wasn’t the one wrong this weekend.
“Murph...”
I don’t answer.
“Can you please look at me?”
I raise my head, slowly dragging my eyes up her body as I go. She has a white fleece pullover covering her from the waist up, and her hair is up in another perfect ponytail. Nobody should look this sexy running the damn track.
She clears her throat, and I raise my eyes to hers. She steps forward and grips the top of the fence separating us when her eyes lock on my sling. Reaching out she asks, “What happened to your arm? Are you okay?”
“I’m in a sling three days before a game, so okay is debatable. I’ll live. Hopefully, I’ll play.”
“What did the trainer say?”
Lifting one eyebrow in question, I ask, “This really what you want to talk about?”
She shakes her head no, and I fight the urge to walk away. What am I doing?
What is it about this girl?
“I owe you an apology. I was out of line Sunday morning. I know it’s not an excuse, but I get bitchy when I get defensive or nervous—”
I cut her off. “Yeah, pretty sure we had this conversation a few weeks ago. You seriously still saying I make you nervous?”
“You’ve always made me nervous, Murph.” She straightens and lifts her chin. Years of being a Senator’s daughter has made her stronger than she realizes. “You’re larger than life. You’re always the center of attention. Everyone loves you.” Her bravado starts to lessen. “You live your life in public, and I’m the opposite. I like to be behind the scenes. I hate to have everyone’s eyes on me. You want to be the king, and I want to be the kingmaker.”
