Page 17 of For Emery

Nice, water girl.

Flip let their disinterest roll right off him—or he was too stupid to realize they’d roasted his ass. His eyes shot back to mine, colder and douchier. “I’ve watched game tapes. You gonna have my back on the field?”

I lifted my bottle to my lips and chugged the rest of my beer. “Practice begins Monday. Time will tell.”

“Time isn’t what I’m worried about,” Flip clipped. “Getting steamrolled because you can’t do your job is my concern.”

Had Sabrina and Finlay not been standing there, I probably would’ve leveled him with my fist.

Sensing my anger, Sabrina stepped in between us. “Grady’s a hell of an offensive tackle. So be sure you don’t get out there and blow it, freshman.”

Flip snorted. “Right.” His eyes jumped amongst us before he turned and walked off, joining some people at the bar.

“Well, he’s a real ass,” Finlay said.

“See, Grady?” Abbott called across the table. “He makes you look like a puppy dog.”

“It’s gonna be a long fucking season,” I grumbled.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Grady

Coach’s whistle blew and we huddled around Flip at the thirty-yard line. Everything about him made my skin crawl. The way he called plays. The way he ordered us around on the field. Sure, it was his job, but he needed to earn that spot. He needed to earn our respect.

Sweat pooled everywhere on my body. I searched out the new water boy, but couldn’t find him. Finlay would’ve eventually shown up with a bottle, even those times she pretended she didn’t hear me ask for one.

“Let’s run an outside hook,” Flip said, pulling my attention back to him.

We clapped our hands and jogged to our positions. I lined up, waiting for the snap. Once he called hike, I held off the defense from pummeling him. Even though I made all my blocks, I enjoyed watching every time someone else’s block was missed and Flip went down.

So far for me, my new physique had worked in my favor. I thought my weight had worked for the position, but now I saw the added weight held me back from my full potential. I wasn’t nearly as out of breath as I used to be. I also jogged now instead of lumbered.

Coach’s whistle blew and we huddled up again. Flip called another play and we assembled on the line of scrimmage. On his call, I flew forward, totally misreading our defensive back’s next move. I landed on the ground and ate a mouthful of grass as he moved around me.

I spit out the grass, got to my feet, and twisted around to see the defensive back on top of Flip.

Whoops.

They untangled themselves from one another. Once upright, Flip’s angry eyes sought mine through the bars on his helmet. They narrowed, relaying what his words didn’t.

“My bad, kid,” I said.

“Kid?” he spat. “Fuck you!”

“A kid with a foul mouth,” I corrected myself.

The fire in his eyes was comical. “You got a problem with me, Grady?”

“Now that you mention it. That pointing thing you do. Yeah. That bothers the hell out of me.”

His disgust with me was evident. “Think you can make a fucking block?”

“A fucking block? Is that the same as a normal block?” I asked.

Some of the guys chuckled behind me.

Flip didn’t like that. He flew across the space, shoving me in the chest. But like my run-in with Caden two years earlier, he didn’t move me.

---