Page 6 of Matched By My Rival
“But Coach will be pissed if we show up hungover,” I grumbled. “I know.”
“He will,” she agreed. “More than that, you know how hard these transitions are. Going from time off, to weights, to running drills again. It’s going to be rough enough with plenty of sleep.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re right. I’m going to call it a night.”
She groaned. “Now I sound like one of those helicopter parents, hovering over you. I hate that. You’re smart, Parker, and the best damn wide receiver that team has got.”
Now,I thought. The best wide receiver now that Prentiss was gone.
But Mom was my number one fan, always had been. She’d never admit that Prentiss had an intensity and dedication to training that I’d never had. If he were still on the team, he sure as shit wouldn’t be out getting drunk and stupid the night before the first drill in weeks. Ugh. Tomorrow morning was going to be murder. My stomach churned just to think about it.
“You can make your own decisions,” she said. “I should butt out.”
“Thanks, but you’re not wrong. I’m going to be hurting in the morning.”
“Drink some water. Lots of it,” she said. “And take some Tylenol.”
“I will, Mama bear. Don’t worry.”
“Mama is my name, and worry is my game,” she said lightly. “I’m always rootin’ for ya.”
“I know. Night.”
“Night sweetie. And just so you know, if I’d ever had a Sophie’s choice, I’d definitely choose to keep you.”
“What about Scott?”
“Your brother doesn’t need to know about this, does he?” she joked.
Laughing, I clicked off the call and dodged the football flying at my head. “Watch it, fuckers!”
“Come on, man. Are we playing or not?”
I thought about it a minute. I’d needed this, even if the timing wasn’t ideal. This school year had been intense, with Prentiss getting cut from the team. Despite his injuries—and his temper—he was the better player of the two of us. He’d had a drive I’d never match. Nor did I want to.
I’d always loved playing football.Playing.It took a lot of work to be good, and I was okay with that work, as long as I continued to enjoy the game. But lately… Well, ever since the shit with Prentiss went down anyway, I’d been struggling to find the joy I’d once felt in stepping onto the field. Prentiss had been a fun challenge. He’d motivated me to do better. We’d had a competitive spirit, each trying to outdo the other, catch more passes, gain more yards.
He’d gotten the best routes, being the senior player and the one with the chops for deep runs. But I’d nipped at his heels, made him feel me breathing down his neck.
And that had been—fun.
For me anyway.
Simon was so serious it was tough to tell if he enjoyed the taunting and teasing or hated it. Then again, he’d given me a split lip, so probably the latter. Which was too bad. But then, I’d probably enjoyed our trash talk a little too much.
Football was a means to an end for most of us. The pros were a hell of a long shot, but football kept us in shape, kept us in friends and sexy hookups, and paid at least some of the bloated tuition at a place like Hayworth. But all good things must come to an end, and for me, I was beginning to think I might be okay with that coming sooner rather than later. Because for all that football gave me, it also came with a cost.
It took a toll on the body—with tackles leading to bruises, sprains, ligament tears, and fractures—and for me, at least, it took a toll on the spirit. Because as long as I remained in the uber masculine sport, I couldn’t imagine ever being open about my pansexuality.
And I was really tired of locking up that part of me.
The same part that kind of missed Simon Prentiss’s dirty looks.
2
PARKER
Practice was brutal. Without daily field practice, my body felt sluggish. Combined with too much beer and not enough sleep, optimal performance wasn’t even a blip on the radar. I held up better than some of the guys. Cruz puked on the sidelines, and Johnston looked like death warmed over. Still, Coach Jackson might have overlooked it—if Smith hadn’t walked in late and Jacobs hadn’t been a no-show.
