Page 99 of Playing Games

For the last week, all my mind has wanted to think about is a certain beautiful blond girl who broke my goddamn heart. It’s taken every ounce of willpower I have not to reach out to her. Not to text her or call her. Not to show up at her apartment. Hell, even though I know for a fact that she’s officially done with her doctorate program, I’ve been so tempted to make a pit stop at the Ferris Research Lab between my classes and practices just to see if she’s in there.

But I’ve managed to survive another seven days without her.

I’ve managed to eat and sleep and go to practice and classes.

I’ve managed it all, but I wouldn’t say I’ve done it well.

My head was in my asshole pretty much every practice, so much so that Coach Gordan asked me to come into his office after practice on Thursday to have an impromptu heart-to-heart. I didn’t have the balls to tell him I’m a fucking love-sick fool who is missing the girl of his goddamn dreams because she told him to move on.

Instead, I made some excuse of having issues with migraines, but I tried to lift his spirits by telling him I’m feeling a lot better. He made me see our team physician, and once I got the all clear, Coach Gordan didn’t look like someone pissed in his Cheerios anymore.

And even though, on the inside, I feel like absolute dog shit, I refuse to drag my teammates to the depths of hell with me. They deserve better than that. They deserve for me to stay focused and have the kind of mental clarity that wins football games.

And this game is an important one.

Today marks the official kickoff of the Dragons’ football season. And while I haven’t officially set foot in the stadium yet, with the roars and cheers from the crowd echoing inside the tunnel that leads to the field, I’m certain we’re dealing with a full house.

Georgia is one of our biggest rivals, and while they aren’t the team we lost the championship to last year—fuck you, Buffalo—we need to win if we want to stand a chance at another championship opportunity.

And fuck, I want another opportunity. In fact, I refuse to accept anything less this year.

Then get your head out of your ass and focus on the win.

I might have my future plans set on playing in the NFL, but right now, my sights are set on leading the Dickson Dragons to a championship.

My helmet sits on top of my head, and I shake the tension out of my arms and hands as we sit and wait to be announced to the field. It’s a decades-long university tradition that the first game of the season includes a ceremony of sorts where each football player walks out onto the field with one of the Dickson cheerleaders for good luck.

Personally, I think it’s a little fucking stupid, but I refuse to bring the vibes down. A good quarterback, a good leader, doesn’t bitch and moan about petty shit.

And trust me, I know, complaining about something like this is top-tier petty.

“You ready, Boden?” Drake asks. His helmet is already over his face, but I don’t miss the pirate’s smile on his lips.

Drake Martin has always been a crazy motherfucker, and anyone who’s seen his running game would know he’s reckless in a good way. The man takes tackles like he doesn’t feel pain and gets a thrill out of taking on a three-hundred-pound linebacker. He’s nuts and lives and eats football just like I always have.

“Of course I’m ready.” I reach out to slap the top of his helmet. “Let’s fucking go!”

“Hell yeah, BB!” he agrees and then raises his voice so every one of our teammates waiting in the tunnel can hear him.“Let’s fucking go!”

The response is several shouts and cheers that eventually turn into, “Dragons! Dragons! Dragons!” Followed by “Eat shit, Georgia!”

Seeing as that last part technically goes against the Dragons Football code of ethics, I know Coach Gordan has to be rolling his eyes over it, but he’s also not saying anything. The more amped up we are, the better.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please stand up from your seats!” the announcer exclaims. “And get ready to welcome this year’s Dickson Dragons to the field!”

The crowd bursts into excitement. And the student section doesn’t disappoint when they start shouting,“BBE! BBE!”

Yes, it’s a play on BDE—otherwise known as Big Dick Energy—and yes, they are utilizing my initials. It’s something that started halfway through my freshman season and caught on.

In front of me, each of my teammates starts to walk out of the tunnel, meeting up with their Dragons’ cheerleader match, and walking onto the field with her arm tucked within theirs.

It’s tradition that the quarterback is the last one to exit the tunnel, and it’s a first-game-of-the-season tradition that the quarterback walks onto the field with the captain of this year’s Dickson cheerleaders.

I can’t for the life of me remember which cheerleader was named captain this year, and there’s a small part of me that’s annoyedit’s not Scottie Bardeaux. But I swallow it down and force a smile to my lips when I reach the end of the tunnel.

Instantly, my eyes look out toward the packed stadium, taking in the gold-and-navy crowd of excited fans.Fuck, this is why I’m here. This is what I love.This is what I live for.

Once Drake Martin is announced and he makes it to the center of the field with Kayla—a cheerleader who is one of Scottie’s best friends—I look to my right and hold out my hand for the captain of the cheerleading squad.

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