Page 8 of The Wrong Quarterback

PARKER

“Hey, Parkie, I got one for you,” Jace said as he threw his helmet on the ground and fixed his man bun.

I felt weird every time I said those words.

I took my time drinking my water because Jace “had one” for me a couple of times a day.

And every time it was awful.

“You can proceed,” I told him as I reluctantly put the water bottle down. Matty snorted next to me, and I shot him a grin. One of our favorite things was giving Jace a hard time.

“You two act like I’m not the funniest person on the planet,” Jace commented, finally finishing his beauty routine and putting his helmet back on. “But inside, I know that youpinefor these moments.”

“Wepinefor these moments?” Matty drawled as he snapped his own helmet back on. “I can promise you, Thatcher, I’ve never used the wordpinebefore in my life.” He side-eyed me. “I bet Parkie-Poo has, though. That big brain of hislovesthe wordpine.”

I huffed out an amused laugh.

“Well, first of all, you just used the wordpine, and it came off your tongue quite smoothly, so I’m confident you’re not afirst timer. But I do agree with you that ole quarterback here probably loves that word. He does have a big brain. I feel good about myself, though. I have a big?—”

“Am I interrupting social hour, ladies?” Coach Everett called, mercifully cutting off Jace’s sentence as he tossed a football in the air and scowled at us.

“No, sir, Coach, sir,” Jace called back as the three of us started jogging over to resume practice.

Coach pretended to snarl at Jace, but it was hard to stay mad at my golden retriever best friend. Mostly because he was one of the best receivers that college football had ever seen obviously. All of us could do without his bad jokes.

Speaking of jokes…

“What did Nala say to Simba in bed?” Jace asked as we lined up to run a play.

“Do we have to?” I groaned.

“Yes we have to. I’m not going to catch one ball until you listen to me,” Jace said seriously.

“But what about his other ball?” Connor, my enormous center called. Now the whole team was groaning.

“Can we not talk about Parker’s balls?” Matty said from down the line.

“I’m still waiting,” Jace said, a giant, annoying smile on his face.

“This is chaos,” Coach muttered, and I nodded. The best kind.

“Fine. Hurry,” I growled as I lined up behind Connor.

“Move fasta,” Jace said, and then he began cackling.

It took me a second to get it…obviously mybig brainwasn’t working today. Probably because listening to Jace’s jokes made me dumber.

“Move fasta.Mufasa,” Jace emphasized. When not a single player laughed, he scowled. “Y’all need to get a better sense of humor.”

“Set…hut,” I called, and a second later Connor hiked me the ball with a clean, perfect motion, and I dropped back, scanning the field.

Jace cut left, and I launched the ball, watching as it spiraled through the air and fell perfectly into Jace’s outstretched arms.

Because I was a god like that.

Jace ran a few steps and then held up the football, shaking his ass at the rest of us as he celebrated the catch.

“How the fuck do we ever win a game?” Coach grunted to Coach Houston, our quarterbacks’ coach. Coach Houston grinned as Jace came running back and tossed me the football.

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