Page 41 of Tight End

“Okay, perfect.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself. Appeasing my mom and sister is great, but clearing my brain of the muscled football player who has no business being there?

Priceless.

SIXTEEN

Ryan

“That was rough.”

I’m not sure who said it, but I grunt in response, stepping forward into the spray of the shower. The cold water feels like heaven on my sore muscles, and I hang my head, letting it roll over my shoulders and cascade down my back. Fuck me running sideways. Practice today was a bitch.

Coach Wolfe reamed our asses from the second he saw us until he sent us to the showers. We spent the last two hours doing suicides, burpees, bear crawls, and crab walks before running a few sloppy plays.

Three of the linemen puked. One of the rookies nearly passed out.

I haven’t had an ass chewing like that since college.

I get it, he’s pissed, but so are the rest of us. No one feels good after a loss, especially one as spectacular as the one yesterday.

We were doing well early in the game—riding high after our first touchdown—and managed to hold them back from their end zone for the rest of the first quarter. When we hit thefield at the start of the second, we thought we had the game in the bag. We were cocky, arrogant, and stopped playing as a team. Then we let them gain twelve yards. Another two. Then four. Before I knew it, they had a touchdown of their own, and the game was tied.

We completely fell apart after that and practically handed them the win. They scored twice more, and we tucked our tails between our legs and went back to the hotel to lick our wounds.

Some of the guys went down to the hotel bar to nurse the loss in a pitcher of beer while I stayed up all night, clenching my phone and wishing I had someone to call. Wishing I had someone to give me some solace, a sense of peace, when everything feels like it’s going wrong.

A week ago I’d have been with the guys, drinking, laughing, trying to forget my epic fuckups from the game. Now that I have Oliver and June in my life, I wanted them. I wanted to sit with Oliver while he talked through another movie. I wanted June to help me tuck him into bed. And Lord help me, I wanted to talk to June until either one of us fell asleep or the sun came up.

But I couldn’t. I was a little over five hundred miles away, and June wasn’t mine to find comfort in. I wanted to, though, fuck me, I wanted to.

“Looking a little slow out there, Devlin. Old age starting to set in?” Isaac Hughes, the second-string tight end, settles in next to me with a haughty laugh that sends me immediately on edge.

Dammit, I’d love nothing more than to tell him to fuck off, to rise to his level of petty, but it’s not worth it. He’s not worth losing my cool and potentially my first-string position. If we keep playing like we did yesterday, it’s injeopardy anyway. I was slow and he fucking wasn’t. The prick.

So, yeah, as much as I’d love to knock a few of his teeth out, I won’t. I’ll play nice. I’ll do the right thing and try like hell not to make things worse for myself.

Instead, I grit my teeth, balling my hands into fists against the shower wall, and swallow down the insult loaded on my tongue.

“Thought you might be protecting your left side. Pulled your hamstring again?” He’s gloating—asshole—and yeah, maybe I did pull my hamstring at practice today, but I won’t be admitting it to him.

That secret lies between me and my maker.

“Get the fuck out of here, Eye-Sack. No one needs to hear your big-ass mouth. Even with a pulled hammy, Devlin is still better than your punk ass.”

Okay, so that secret lies between Gunner and me. And apparently now Isaac. Perfect. I’m sure he won’t mention it in front of Coach at practice tomorrow. It’s not like we have our opening game coming up on Thursday.

Oh, wait, we do.

With a growl I push away from the wall as Gunner pushes Hughes down the line and takes his place. He glances around us, which doesn’t look suspicious at all, and leans toward me, lowering his voice. “You okay, man?”

I stare at him, blinking a few times before I answer. “Are you talking to me or my penis? You’re awfully close.”

He shakes his head, huffing a laugh, but does give me a little space. Dude has no sense of personal boundaries sometimes. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, fucker.”

“It’s no big deal. I’ll be good as new by Thursday.” I even shake my leg around for good measure. Don’t need myquarterback worrying about me. He’s my best friend, but he’s also one of the four team captains around here.

Gunner, however, doesn’t seem amused. His eyes narrow and he crosses his arms. I don’t even get a smirk. “Not talking about the leg.”

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