Page 17 of Game Face

For having had a few drinks for the first time in weeks, I feel surprisingly wired. And I think it’s because I know when I get done with practice today, I’m going to walk into Wyatt’s place and call it ours.

My phone buzzes in the Jeep’s cupholder as I pull into a spot just south of the track, near the gym. I pull it from the charging cord and wake up my screen to a message from Tasha.

TASHA: What am I supposed to do with these two?

My palm buzzes with the incoming picture. It’s Wyatt and Whiskey standing shoulder to shoulder in her doorway as if they’re stuck. Their hair is tussled like third grade boys who’ve just woken up from a sleepover, and Whiskey is already holding a beer.

I cackle, then thank myself for not feeling guilty about missing this.

ME: You put boxes in their hands and wave them on their way.

TASHA: This.

I chuckle at the mental picture, which I’m sure is exactly how Tasha executes my suggestion. And I bet Whiskey and Wyatt obey her every order, because my best friend has a way of being heard and minded.

I’m early to practice, the only car in the small lot next to the gym besides a familiar truck parked on the opposite corner. Bryce isn’t inside it, so I don’t think he’s stalking me. But it’s weird that he’s here, and at eight in the morning. They don’t have practice until four.

Pulling the straps of my bag up over my shoulder, I hop out of the Jeep and lock it behind me before heading toward the track. It’s already nearing a hundred degrees out, the Arizona fall behaving a lot more like summer. It’s what makes our desert football teams so formidable. People come play us here early in the season and simply can’t hang in our heat.

I lean into the fence, spotting Bryce running on the opposite side of the track. His pace is steady, and his shirt is off. He may be my ex but I’m human, and the man has kept up with his fitness. I’d still take the feel of Wyatt’s abs under my hand any day, but Bryce, he makes a good case for calling attention.

His run slows to a jog when he spots me. He peels off the track after a few more steps and walks across the field where our soccer team practices. His hands are linked over his head, his elbows out, and I can see how hard his chest is working to catch his breath as he nears.

“You know it’s better to show off where people will see you,” I tease.

I back up a step as he meets the fence, hooking his fingers through the links and resting a foot near the bottom as he lunges into a stretch. He lifts his head and squints from the sun as he looks at me.

“You saw me.”

His mouth curves in that half grin he still wears well. It’s a glimmer of the cocky fifteen-year-old I fell for as a kid. Man, was I an easy target.

“Yeah, but I have zero say over the starting quarterback slot.” I shrug, and he laughs out hard, letting go of the fence and backing away a few steps to stretch his quads one at a time.

“You know, I still have shit balance,” he proclaims as he holds his right foot behind him while he wiggles on his left.

“You’ve gotten better, though. A few years ago, you’d be on your ass by now.”

He chuckles and lets his foot fall to the ground.

“That’s fair.”

He stretches the other leg, glancing up at me with his lips parted as if he has something to say. It makes my chest tighten.

“I know why I’m here early. We hit the mat today, first time with the new routine. Unless you’re switching it up and coming to be a base, why are you putting in overtime?” I nod out toward the track, which is devoid of anyone else and looks fucking hot. The red all-weather rubber appears on the verge of melting, and I swear I see heat radiating from the concrete lip around the edge.

Bryce drops his other leg and licks his lips, shifting his weight, then running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He’s been at this a while.

“Honestly? Wyatt kicked my ass on the treadmills the other day, and it made me realize my cardio is shit.”

Huh. Wyatt seemed to think Bryce was on par with him. I won’t tell Bryce that Wyatt was worried about the same thing,but he was. And he’s been running a lot more on his own too. Granted, Wyatt likes the trails. He gets up at dawn and scales the mountain and back.

Bryce’s head tilts to the side as his hands land on his hips, his breathing back to normal.

“Hey, you got a minute?”

I glance behind me, the lot still empty. I like to be early, but I guess I can handle not being the one to flip the lights on.

“Yeah, shoot.”

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