Page 50 of A Play For The Heart
“You’ll be playing in my head cause you’re a summer hit, I’m singing it”
Slugs—Slow Pulp
Henry
LeavingSawyerthismorningwas one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I once had to do a summer of strength and conditioning with my father in the blazing Florida heat. Last night was more than I could have imagined. I didn’t want to leave, but I hadn’t expected to stay over, so I had to head to my apartment before practice to change and grab my workout gear. Sawyer and I have never spoken much about our love lives, mostly because I didn’t want to know, but I hadn’t expected her to be a virgin. Frankly, it was surprising. Sawyer is drop-dead gorgeous, and any man would be lucky to even be in her presence. I did my best at the moment to school my features, but the small little caveman inside of me was jumping with joy.
Outside of anything sexual, nothing felt better than her falling asleep in my arms. It felt like a homecoming. I would give up a large chunk of my salary to be able to wake up to her every morning. I spent a good thirty seconds just staring at her while she slept this morning. That sounds creepy. But she just looked so ethereal, I couldn’t look away. Her blonde hair was splayed across the pillow, messy and curly. She looked so peaceful.
Then this morning, with all the playfulness while we got ready. It felt so easy and normal. I usually dread getting ready for the day but doing it beside Sawyer makes it bearable. Most mornings, I hit snooze at least two times, but this morning a new sense of energy was coursing through my veins. Not to mention that she agreed to go on a date with me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled she agreed to be my girlfriend. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when she said yes, and it took every ounce of willpower not to propose to her right then and there. But the friendship we already had allowed for that to happen. We didn’t get to do the whole dating thing, and Sawyer deserves to get taken out. Doted on.
I’m starting to understand what the older guys on the team mean when they say it’s hard to leave home. Leaving Sawyer in bed just to go to practice was hard, and I can’t even imagine having to leave for an away game.
I pull my car into the players’ parking lot at the practice field, grab my bag from the backseat, and head inside towards the locker room. As I walk through the facility, I can feel the shit-eating grin form on my face. I do my best to sober my features, but I’m so damn happy that nothing can kill how I’m feeling. However, the feelings etched onto my features will be a dead giveaway to Jack and Deon that something happened, and I do not want to tell them anything about Sawyer and me. Especially in the locker room.
As I walk through the locker room, I keep my head down to avoid any eyes. I’m only a foot away from the cubby, and I can feel the relief start to rise in my body when I feel a large hand grab my shoulder.
So. Close.
I turn around slowly, preparing myself.
“Hi, Jack,” I say, attempting to be cool and casual. I’m not sure I nailed it, but we’re going with it.
“Hello, Henry,” Jack responds, a twinkle in his eye and a too-wide grin on his face. He knows something is up. It’s like he can sniff out when I’m having strong emotions, good or bad. Frankly, it’s terrifying. “How are you doing on this fine Wednesday morning?”
“I’m good. How are you, Jack?”
“Oh, just great. I slept so well last night; how did you sleep?”
Oh shit.Oh shit.He’s not even attempting to be subtle. How on earth does he know that I spent the night at Sawyer’s? The only people who know are Sawyer and me. I didn’t tell anyone I was going over to her place, and I know that she didn’t tell Jack.
That leaves only one person who could have told him. Which doesn’t make any sense because she does not like him. At all. There’s zero chance she talked to him unnecessarily.
“How?” I ask. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“A little birdie told me,” Jack responds, the grin on his face getting so large I want to punch it right off him. I shoot him a look that is serious enough because he spills about who his secret informant is. “Maren sent me a photo of your shoes in their hallway this morning when she left for work.”
What a traitor.
“She doesn’t even like you. Why would she send you that photo?” I’m genuinely shocked she sent it to him, especially after the whole bar thing a few weeks ago. I cannot read Maren, and it’s unsettling. “How does she even have your number?”
“I gave it to her at the bar so we could talk about documentaries. I never expected her to use it, but she likes me, she just doesn’t know it yet,” Jack responds, confidently. I am even more confident that she doesn’t, but I’m not going to tell him that when I need him to give me information. “Plus, she loves to be right and to mess with her, I told her she was really off-base about you two being into each other.”
There it is.
No chance Maren did it for any other reason except to prove to Jack she was right, especially after documentary-gate.
“Well, there’s nothing to say and it's none of your business.”
I turn around and start getting dressed to head to the weight room, effectively ending the conversation. I busy myself, tying my gym shoes and reorganizing my locker when I have nothing else to do. The moment I can, I bolt from the locker room into the weight room and get right to work. I don’t need Jack trying to gossip about it while Declan and the rest of the team are around.
An hour later, we’re on the practice field, running through plays for the upcoming game. Since we had a game on Monday, it’s not a tough practice, just working on plays that will work against the other team’s defense. The offensive coordinator calls a play, and we all line up on the line of scrimmage. The ball is hiked by the center, and I take off, running the route the coach called. Deon launches the ball toward me, and the moment it hits my hands, it lands weirdly and I drop it. I immediately curse under my breath, annoyed that I dropped the ball.
I look back at Deon and signal that it was my bad, not his throw. I chalk it up to hitting my hand odd and make my way back towards the line of scrimmage. I can feel eyes on me, but I ignore them. They act like they’ve never dropped a pass before. I do my best to shake it off when the coach yells for us to run it again.
We run the play again and the same thing happens, I go to secure the ball and I drop it. We run in a third time. The same thing happens. At this point, I’m super frustrated and can’t figure out what is going on. The offensive coach gives up on that play and calls one that’s meant for the running back. I run my route, which is meant as a decoy, the entire time trying to figure out why I can’t catch the ball properly.
I line up again, when Declan runs by me, pausing for a moment.
