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“Thanks.” Without even knowing it, he’s told me exactly what I needed to hear.
“Finish up here soon, yeah?”
“I will.” I nod.
“Have a good night, Archer.” He turns, making his way off the field.
“Yeah, you too,” I murmur, not sure if he actually hears me. Not that it really matters anyway.
I roll the ball he handed me between my hands, my mind drifting back to a certain sassy brunette who surprised me more than she knows this evening.
She has more backbone than I realized and I have to admit, I liked it a little too much. So much, in fact, that I had to force myself to get the hell out of that room before I did something stupid, like kiss the fucking girl.
And I almost did.
Fuck, if I almost did.
I was so close.
But I knew if I took that leap, if I closed the tiny distance I had left between us, that there would be no going back. I don’t have to know anything to know that much.
Hopping a few steps back, I launch the ball into the stands, frustration tugging at my insides.
No one understands what it’s like, what I have to do, the pressure I feel to succeed. Not my friends. Not my parents. No one. And yet her, I don’t justthinkshe understands, Iknowshe does. I can see it in her eyes. It’s the same hunger that pumps through me, the drive to want something so badly that it’s all you can let yourself see.
Watching her lose herself in her art, it really was a sight to fucking behold. She’s completely unaware of the little ticks she has. How she constantly touches her chin as if in contemplation. How she tucks and untucks her hair behind her ear over and over again like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. How she bites on the end of the pencil while she works to smudge lines with her fingers, ending up with little stains of color on her face in the process.
I couldn’t help but wonder what people see when they watch me. Do I have quirks? Little things I do in the moment that I don’t realize I’m doing? Truth be told, I’m usually so in the zone, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were things I did absentmindedly. Like Rory, I’m probably oblivious to it.
There was something so beautiful about watching her work. In that moment, I wasn’t thinking about where I needed to be. I wasn’t thinking about football or everything I have riding on the remainder of this season. In that moment, all I was thinking about was her.
I won’t deny I’ve been drawn to her since the moment I sat down in front of her class last year. I can’t explain it or rationalize it, but the instant I looked at her I felt it—this pull. Like being drawn toward something bigger than yourself.
Not that any of that matters. Not like I could ever act on any of it. What would be the point? So that I could disappoint her every time I put the game before her, which I inevitably would. And then what if it gets too real? Like, what if I wanthermore than I want this game?
I shake the thought away.
I amnotmy father.
He may have been willing to walk away for my mother... Forme. To settle for some low paying, high school coaching gig to stay close to home, but I’m not built that way.
I love him for it, don’t get me wrong. My father is the greatest man I know. He gave up everything for us. For my mother and me. And it’s partly because of this that I feel like I owe it to him to do it right. To do it for both of us.
“Dude, are you fucking deaf?” I startle, pivoting on my heel when I hear Higgins behind me. “I was calling your name for a solid two minutes.”
“Shit, sorry.” I shake my head.
“What are you doing out here so late?”
“Do you really have to ask that?” I give him a pointed look.
“No, I suppose I don’t.” He chuckles.
“What areyoudoing here?”
“I was just having dinner with a few of the guys, saw the lights were still on. Figured that could only mean one thing.” He leans down and picks up a ball.
“So you came here to run some drills?” I ask, almost hopeful.
