Page 25 of False Start
Football players at the college and professional levels have a curfew at ten the night before a game, and they’re required to stay in a hotel room the night before as well in order to limit distractions.
“I hope you know how to grill.”
“I learned from the best.”
“Your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, I bought steaks and potatoes.”
“Could you be any more perfect?”
I busy myself readying the potatoes for the oven and humming to myself while Bryant goes outside and lights the grill for the steaks. And then I join him on the tailgate of his black truck out by the grill and snuggle in close when he wraps his arm around me. We listen to an acoustic country playlist and talk about tomorrow’s game, and it’s easy to be with him. I enjoy every laid back second we spend together.
After dinner inside the cabin, we cuddle on the couch.
“Dinner was amazing. Thank you,” he says.
I move to straddle him as our hands intertwine with one another. “You’re welcome.”
“Will you wait for me after the game tomorrow? There’s some people I’d like you to meet.”
“I can’t believe you were able to get me in the door to the physical therapy department. I can’t thank you enough.”
He releases my right hand and touches his hand to my face. “I’m a little nervous to have you on the sidelines, but I’m glad you’re going to be there. The experience will be good for you.”
“How did you know I wanted to go into sports medicine?”
“Zina.” The saddest expression crosses his face. “I hate to go, babe, but I don’t want to piss Coach off by missing curfew.”
“It’s okay. I knew you couldn’t stay.”
“Would you let me stay? Now that people know?”
I shrug and smirk. “I guess it depends on how you play tomorrow.”
He leans his head back and laughs. “She’s got jokes.”
I know he’s nervous to play tomorrow. Our team is undefeated in our conference this year, and the mounting pressure to hold onto the title grows with each game as the season nears. He likely won’t sleep well the night before a big game, so he needs to scoot and arrive at his hotel for a decent night’s sleep. A strange feeling erupts in my chest when I realize I don’t want him to go tonight. I’d rather him stay and us sleep by the fire. “You only have half an hour until curfew.”
“Are you kicking me out?” he asks.
“Yes. Otherwise, the great state of Louisiana will blame me for their quarterback riding the bench because he pissed off his coach.”
“They would indeed be angry. Alright, I’ll go.” He stands, stretches his long body, and then reaches out for me. I also stand, go to him, and lay my head against his chest. “Tonight was perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Are you staying out here tonight?”
“Yes. I’ll lock up tight until the morning.”
“Hey,” he softly says, and I lean back to look up at him, “I’ll text the instructions on who to meet tomorrow at the stadium. In the meantime, get some rest and stay hydrated. You’ll be on the field tomorrow. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me.”
He kisses me goodnight right before I lock up behind him, it’s slow, passionate, and tender–things I didn’t know I wanted. Once the door is closed behind me, I touch my lips and smile to myself. And when I lie down, my mind is full of him and the unfamiliar feelings he elicits. I sleep soundly with dreams of him.
The next morning, I wake early to Bryant’s texts.
