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My authoritative tone is enough to get the team moving past the bird’s-eye view of the Glenmont football field, which is featuring a scrimmage of skins versus shirts.
“You got an ironclad libido, Stevens?” Becca asks me, grinning as she falls into pace beside me in the front of the pack.
“Nope. Just seen better,” I retort.
“In this town? That’s hard to believe. Looks and football talent seem to go hand in hand.”
“Who said I was talking about Glenmont?”
Becca raises her eyebrows. “Can’t think of anyone all that good-looking in Fayetteville, either. Only that guy you brought to prom last year.”
I don’t correct her assumption.
I wasn’t talking about Fayetteville, either.
CHAPTERELEVEN
WESTON
Afinal slash of red marks the last player on the roster as present.
“Hey Cole, any chance I can sneak out of here a bit early?” I turn to look at Josh, surprised. He’s one of the more dedicated players on the team.
“How come?” I can’t help but ask.
“It’s the girls’ soccer game against Glenmont. I told Caroline I’d try to make it for the second half.”
“They’re playing Glenmont today?” I repeat.
“Yup.”
I let out a loud wolf whistle that captures the attention of every guy on the team. I beckon them in, and they jog off the track hesitantly. Probably concerned I’ve come up with a worse drill. Coach Blake is out sick today, so I’m running an optional captain’s practice.
Which every player on the team showed up for. Wisely.
“We’re done for the day,” I inform them. “After we go to the girls’ soccer game.”
I receive a lot of questioning looks.
Chris laughs. “What?”
“They’re playing Glenmont,” I offer. That’s enough to cut off most of the grumbling. These guys would attend a chess match if it meant cheering against Glenmont. We make our way over to the soccer fields as a large, huddled mass, and Chris falls into step beside me.
“Why are we doing this? I thought you hate soccer.”
I shrug. “Josh wanted to see Caroline play.”
“Guess that means they’re on again,” Chris remarks. Caroline and Josh’s relationship status varies from day to day. “Surprised you’re indulging him.”
“Would you rather be running laps?” I shoot back.
“Dude, you’re taking this captain thingwaytoo seriously.”
We approach the field, and I see Maeve’s repeated complaints about the lackluster turnout at the girls’ soccer games were warranted. There’s maybe twenty people here, tops.
Which means we cause quite the stir when we take up the entirety of one of the empty bleachers.
I spot her immediately, but Maeve hasn’t noticed us yet. Her back is turned toward the spectators as she talks intently with one of her teammates. Her hair is braided intricately, and the muscles in her calves flex as she shifts from side to side.
