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“Well, from what I’ve seen, you guys are ready.” She smiles and gently sets my foot back on the table. “Let me see your right wrist.”
She steps forward and I catch a whiff of her perfume. I inhale deeper, enjoying the floral scent while Shayna tapes my wrist.
“Make sure you really stretch out that hamstring before the game. And come see one of the trainers after so we can massage it out again and get you in an ice bath to reduce any inflammation.”
I nod, knowing the protocol but fucking loving how concerned she is. My right hamstring has been tight all week through practice. It’s probably from overuse—I’ve really been pushing myself ahead of this game—but a little discomfort is worth it if it helps me perform better.
“It’s feeling better every day.”
She moves to the other side of the table to tape my left wrist. “Good, that’s what we like to hear.”
“I’m calling dibs on Shayna,” Elijah, one of our cornerbacks, says.
She looks over her shoulder and laughs. Then she rips the tape and squeezes the end onto me and steps back. “You’re done. Have a great game.”
Although she smiles, her eyes never quite reach mine.
She turns to Elijah. “You’re up next.”
As I lower myself from the table, it dawns on me that she’s treating him with the same friendly professionalism she just treated me with, and that realization makes me bump shoulders with Elijah as we pass.
“What the fuck, Burrows?” he asks.
I make a sound that you’d think would come out of Chase and go to my locker to finish getting dressed for the game.
I always want more from Shayna. First it was for her to forgive me, then it was to be friends, and now that we’re friends… do I want to be best friends? Because we sure as shit can’t be anything more as long as we’re both employed here.
Even I don’t know the answer to that question, but I can’t be bothered with it now. I have a job to do—I need to lead my team to victory and prove to them and everyone else that we have what it takes to make it to the Super Bowl.
We went 3-2 during preseason, and today is our first game of the season. The locker room is buzzing with energy.
I haven’t seen Shayna much these past days. On the plane, she sat with the rest of the medical team. There’s no official divide, but it would’ve been weird if I’d asked her to sit near me, or if I’d plopped down beside her away from the rest of the players.
And I didn’t dare go to her to be taped today because I had her help me all three of the preseason games and I worried that maybe someone would notice.
“You ready for this?” Brady asks me once we’re suited up.
I stand and we bump fists. “You know it. Plays?”
He’s been a killer for us so far in the preseason. He knows our playbook, sure, but even when the plays go to shit, for some reason, we’re on the same wavelength out there.
“It’s all up here.” He taps the side of his head.
“We’re in trouble then,” Chase says, joining us.
“Andrews.” He bumps fists with us.
“Let’s fuck’em up.” Chase pounds a fist into Brady’s other hand.
Chase is always a man of few words, but he can also be scary intense sometimes when it’s game time. His dark-brown eyes are focused, and I’d be scared shitless if I were a wide receiver on the other team.
Coach comes in and peps us up with a few inspirational words. And then it’s my job to get them going. After my speech, all the boys are yelling and we put our hands in.
I continue to lead the pack. “Who are we?”
“Kingsmen,” the team answers.
“I can’t fucking hear you. Who are we?”
