Page 13 of Gridlocked on the Gridiron

When he picked it up, he realized it was the vest she’d had him wear during their field sessions. “I don’t want to wear the sports bra today.”

Another thud. The bands he wore on his wrists to track his arm movement. “It’s not a sports bra. Stop whining and get up. I have shit to do.”

“Like what?”

“What did we say about asking questions about our lives outside of these sessions?”

“Ask them?” She didn’t look amused. “Well, how else am I supposed to know whether or not you’re working for the Vipers?”

“I’ll be sure to show you the part of my paystub that says ‘Sabertooths Football.’ Now. Get. Up.”

Colton stood, groaning. When he started to remove his shirt, she made a noise that sounded like a squeak.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting the sports bra on.”

“Put it on over your t-shirt.”

Colton grinned, having learned that making Lucia uncomfortable was one of his favorite pastimes. Especially to get back at her for all the rude comments she’d inevitably make about his sloppy form. “What? Can’t think when my shirt’s off?”

“Another comment like that, and I’ll have to have a conversation with HR. Put the vest on. I already put cones and ladders out, I just need to track your acceleration for some agility drills, and then we can focus on your throwing.” Under her breath, but not quiet at all, she continued, “God knows you need agility training. You can’t scramble for shit right now.”

“I heard that.”

“Good. Get up and prove me wrong.”

Despite the strain, Colton completed five rounds of the agility drills she’d laid out for him, his legs screaming from the effort. After each round, Lucia checked her tablet, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Finally, she seemed content with the numbers.

“Okay, put the wristbands on now. We’ll do the same throwing drills as last time.” When he listened, her eyebrows came together. “You’re being more amenable than usual, have you finally decided that I’m not a Vipers minion here to spy on you?”

Colton slapped the ball once before letting it roll off his fingertips, up, up, up. She glanced down at her tablet again, tapping on it a couple of times.

“I’m too tired to think of anything mean right now. You’re still Clark’s little helper, as far as I’m concerned.” It was lazy, but Colton liked to win, and any comments about her being Clark’s minion seemed to get under her skin.

She looked up at him angrily. “Colton, on the field, you’re supposed to scramble your feet, not your brain.”

He picked up another football from the ground near his feet, his whole body aching with the effort. He took a step back and repeated the motion, this ball coming up a little shorter than the last.

“Early release. Focus on the field. You have no d-line descending on you, absolutely no pressure. Give me eight clean throws, and you can be done.”

“Since when did you become a quarterback coach? I didn’t even know analysts did field work.”

“Since you showed Coach Turner—your biggest supporter, by the way—that he can’t trust you to lead his team anymore.”

Ouch. He’d walked right into that one. “I’m plenty capable. We just beat the Lions, didn’t we?”

Lucia scoffed, “You and I both know that was an ugly win. If they had been even slightly better, we probably would’ve lost…again. And honestly, Cooper coming back helped you immensely.”

He didn’t respond. She was right anyway. He played better when Cooper was out on the field. And if the Lions had been on their A game, he would’ve struggled a lot more to get that win.

“What do you love about the game?” she asked, tossing him a ball that’d rested beside her foot.

“What?”

“Why do you play? What makes you want to keep playing?”

“Winning.” He said it without thinking. Winning was, and had always been, his driving force. His father had instilled it in him from a very young age. If he wanted people to see him, he needed to win.

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