Page 11 of Sneaking Around with the Player
I’m lost in daydreams and time ticks by faster than usual. When the class is over, Holly looks over at me with a grin. “That was fun.”
Nodding, I slide my notebook and pen into my backpack and then retrieve my phone to see Beau’s response to my earlier text.
Beau: No, I’d just want to be very, very thorough.
My cheeks are warm and another giddy smile pulls at my lips.
“Stell?”
I glance up to find my sister staring at me, brows raised. “Sorry, what?”
She chuckles softly. “I asked if you wanted to go out tonight. The girls across the hall invited us to The Hideout for dinner and then I thought we could stop by Felix’s house.”
Felix is always having people over and we usually stop by. It’s nice to have him at the same school and his teammates and friends are a good group of guys—most of them anyway.
“Swim practice will probably go late. Go to dinner with them and I’ll text when I’m done and maybe meet up.”
“All right.” She takes a step away from me. Our next class isn’t together. “Have a good afternoon.”
“You too.” I loop my backpack around one shoulder and head off in the other direction.
I have two more classes and no time to text Beau during either. In my fitness and sports class, we go to the campus driving range to hit golf balls, and then I have an art class, where I struggle to draw a stack of books.
Holly has already decided to major in English with an emphasis on creative writing. I’m still undecided. I was considering interior design, but I may pull my hair out if every art pre-requisite (and there are a lot) is this painful.
As I walk to the aquatic center for practice, I still have that buzzing, giddy feeling. I swipe my student athlete ID to get into our training area.
I’m staring down at my phone, rereading Beau’s texts, when a quiet whistling catches my attention. At first, I think it’s Eric, but when I look up, I spot one of the assistant coaches. He nods and smiles as he passes.
Me: Can you whistle?
Beau: Sure. Can’t everyone.
Me: I can’t. At least not very well. Do you whistle?
Beau: Not on the regular, but occasionally. Why? Deciding we can’t be friends now?
Me: It is a hard limit for me. I’m going to have to start asking guys on the first date.
Beau: Eh. All else fails, you can kiss him to shut him up. I hear that works.
And just like that I’m thinking about kissing Beau.
Beau
On Wednesday night, I head over to a teammate’s off-campus house with the rest of the guys. A lot of students went home for the long weekend, but anyone who didn’t is ready to cut loose.
We have an early open practice tomorrow. Family members that are in town for Thanksgiving can come by and watch us, and then there’s a luncheon for everyone. It’s a nice way to make sure everyone gets to have a holiday meal because a lot of guys have families too far away to make it.
My mom and dad flew in earlier tonight. We did the team dinner and then they went back to the hotel to crash. My skin itches from the small interaction. Football is everything to Beau Ricci Sr. I come from a long line of football players. My grandpa led his team to a state championship in high school. My dad and his three brothers all wore a jersey, but none of them went on to play college ball. My dad had a shot, but then blew out his knee his last year of high school.
From an early age, football was this magical, almost religious thing my family did and expected me to continue. At get-togethers, we’d hurry through the meal to get a game going. There’s more anticipation for Super Bowl Sunday than Christmas.
I’ve always enjoyed playing. I like the mental and physical challenge, and the stability it’s brought to my life. When I was having a bad day, my dad would pick up the football and we’d work it out by tossing it back and forth until I couldn’t remember what it was that had me down. Work it out on the field, that’s our motto. We aren’t a family that talks things out; we solve problems with sweat.
I didn’t question it when I was younger. It was in my blood. Riccis play football. But ever since I got to college, it’s started to feel like the hopes and dreams of every man in my family are resting on my shoulders.
Every game is another opportunity for me to hear how I’m screwing it all up. All my dad could talk about tonight was how my performance this season wasn’t going to cut it in the NFL.
