Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Talon’s laugh hits my ears before his face appears above me. “Is that making football your bitch?”
I groan as he helps me to my feet. After two weeks, I’m sore all over from being tackled over and over and over again, but I’m killing it. I know I am. I may feel like shit, but if the praise from my coaches is anything to go by, I’m impressing the hell outta them, and that’s all I care about.
The only thing bringing down my training—other than exhaustion—is the strain between me and some of the guys. Surprisingly, most of the animosity is on the field. In the locker room, I’m left alone. It’s promising, but I’m not getting my hopes up that it’s going to last.
The days drag, and I miss Noah like crazy, but now I’m not on the ground, and the pain from my last hit is dimming, I know I’m in the right place. Even sore and exhausted, I can’t stay mad at the game for long.
We’ve been running scrimmages all day, but when Talon says we’re running the same play that just failed and ended with me getting tackled without the ball in my hand, Carter doesn’t settle for his usual scowl that I’m slowly getting used to. His protest now comes in the form of muttered words so quiet I don’t know what he says.
I’m fully prepared to let it go, like I have every other little snip someone’s had in passing, but Talon takes his helmet off and charges Carter, bumping pads and getting in his face.
“Wanna say that louder so the whole class can hear?” Talon says.
“Talon, drop it.” I try to pull him back.
“Nah, if he’s got a problem, we need to sort it. Speak up or forever shut your face.”
The offensive coach runs in from the sidelines, and Coach Caldwell is hot on his heels. Fuck a duck. “Problem?” Coach asks.
Carter looks between Talon and me and then to the coaches. “Not at all.”
“Then let’s run this fucking play and get it done,” Talon says.
Talon off the field is a playful, cheery guy who’s a great friend. Quarterback Talon is this commanding presence who’s all bossy and arrogant. It’s kinda hot.
We get into the line of scrimmage, and I face off with Henderson, one of the team captains.
“Lovers’ quarrel?” he taunts but then he falters. “Shit. Probably shouldn’t use that line with you or I’ll get in trouble.”
This is what’s going to end up driving me and the rest of the team crazy. They’re walking on eggshells, thinking they can’t joke about anything they normally would with any of the other guys. Coaches in the past have called the whole team “ladies” as a form of put-down. Now with all the PC shit, they’re all going to be afraid to say anything at all. No, they shouldn’t say it, but I don’t want to be treated differently either.
“Say whatever you want to me, Henderson. You’ll be doing it while I run circles around you.”
He laughs, and the tactic works, because after the snap, I pivot and run past him. Unlike the last play, where I was tackled before I even got to the ball, I hit my mark only to be beaten out by Carter stealing my fucking pass.
Oh, hell no.
Next thing I know, I’ve got my hands on his jersey, and we butt helmets. “What. The. Fuck.”
Carter pushes me off him. “Didn’t think you’d get there in time. Some of us are here because we don’t need a gimmick to get us a pass.”
An eerie silence falls on the field. And then? I burst into laughter. I laugh so hard I can barely breathe. “Are you serious right now? You think I got my place on this team because I’m gay? Like I’m using that to my advantage?” I laugh some more, and by now the coaches and the rest of the team surround us.
We really are like school kids.
“Jackson, are you okay?” Coach Caldwell asks.
“Peachy. My teammates think I’m waving the rainbow flag to get special treatment and don’t believe I deserve to be here, but sure, I’m fantastic. Let’s see, I was outed against my will, shoved in front of the press who liked to ask personal questions about my sex life, and then I had to take a pay cut because of the stupid salary cap and no one else wanting me. Yeah, I totally did this all on purpose, Carter. Maybe I’ll accuse you of only getting your wide receiver position because you’re black. How would that go over?”
“What the fuck you just say?” Carter tries to get to me, but Miller pulls him back.
“I’m just pointing out your logic is flawed.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Coach says, “but you do, Carter. You were explicitly told—”
“No,” I cut in. “This is his problem. This is everyone’s problem. I have upper management fighting my battles for me.” I turn to Carter. “You want to apologize now or go head to head with me? Suicides. Full gear. Keep going until one of us drops. I kick your ass, you drop the attitude and acknowledge that using my sexuality to get ahead is the most ridiculous plan anyone could ever think of, because it wouldn’t work. It works against me in everything. Even having to prove it to you right now. You beat me, you can take all the passes you want from me.”