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“Hell no. It’s late and I’m tired.” He smiles, taking off into a light jog.
Shaking off a laugh, I toss the ball to him, watching him pretend to juke someone out before taking off to the end zone.
“Thought you said you were tired.” I catch the ball he tosses back to me.
“One for the road.” He picks up a couple of the balls on his way back to me, sliding them back onto the rack. “Come on. Coach is going to whoop your ass if you leave any of these laying around.” He picks up another one and tosses it underhand to me.
I stick it on the rack next to the others before moving to pick up more.
“So you going to tell me how your night with the art student went?”
“She has a name, you know?” I grumble, balancing five balls in my arms.
“Oh, I know. I just worried if I said it out loud you might get that giddy little look on your face.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I drop one of the balls in my attempt to re-rack them and instead of picking it up, I kick it toward Higgins.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“You just can’t help busting my balls, can you?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, watching him collect the remaining footballs by himself.
“Nope.” He drops them at my feet, leaving me to stick them on the rack. “It’s just too easy.”
“To answer your question, it was fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yeah, it was fine,” I reiterate.
“So, she still thinks you’re a piece of shit, then?” He reads me well. Then again, it’s kind of his job to. If we’re not in sync both on and off the field, the whole team feels it. It’s a special connection a quarterback shares with his receivers.
“She drew me with red all around my head like a fucking demon or something.”
“Ah, shit.” He muffles a laugh.
“It’s not that funny.”
“Actually, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. The one girl you actually like and she won’t give you the time of day. Meanwhile, the rest of the fucking campus is lined up just waiting for their shot with QB one.” The thrusting action that follows is as over-the-top as I would expect from him.
“Are you done?” I push the ball rack off the field and into the tunnel, not having to turn around to see if Higgins has followed me inside. “And for the record, I never said I liked her.”
“Why can’t you just admit she’s gotten under your skin? It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
“Because she hasn’t.”
“Thank God you don’t have to be a good liar to be a good football player.” He continues to give me a hard time. Not that I’m not used to it. It’s kind of his M.O.
“Something I’m sure you’re thankful for,” I fire back.
“So have you talked to Tigs?” he asks, following me through the tunnel.
“Why would I?”
“I don’t know, that shit last week with the girl—you know, the one youdon’tlike.”
“Man, he was so wasted he doesn’t even remember what happened.”
“But everyone else does. And you know how people love to spin shit. Just thought it might not hurt to clear the air so he’s not adding to the rumor mill should it roll his way.”
