Page 78 of Hey, Stepbro

"Yeah. Gotta keep my fucking head in the game."

"Damn right." Justin claps me on the shoulder before jogging off to join the rest of the team.

As we go through our drills, I do my best to concentrate on each play and every movement of my body. But no matter how hard I try, my thoughts keep drifting back to Blakely—his shy smile, the way he gets lost in his books, and how incredibly sexy he is when we're tangled up together, our bodies moving in tandem.

"Focus, Brock!" Coach yells, and I snap my gaze back to him. He's right. I need to be here, at this moment, giving everything I have to the team and the game.

I push myself harder, letting the physical exertion clear my mind and bring my attention back to where it belongs. I know that if I want to go pro and prove myself to the scouts, I can't let anything distract me from my goals.

"Alright, Rawdogs! Time to practice the Wildcat formation!" Coach barks, gathering us around him. "This play is crucial for our big game next weekend, so I want everyone giving it their all!"

I steel my resolve, knowing that this play requires perfect coordination between me and my teammates. As the quarterback in the Wildcat formation, I'll be lining up as a wide receiver while our running back, Jake, takes the snap directly from the center.

"Ready?" Coach asks, looking each of us in the eye.

"Ready," we reply in unison, our determination palpable.

Coach blows his whistle, and we spring into action. The offensive line charges forward, creating a gap for Jake to slip through. I sprint down the sideline, drawing the attention of the cornerback, while Jake fakes a handoff to our wide receiver, Tyler. With the defense momentarily confused, Jake tucks the ball under his arm and bursts through the hole our offensive line created, gaining valuable yardage before he's finally brought down by a swarm of defenders.

"Good job, team!" Coach calls out, a rare hint of approval in his voice. "Again! Let's make sure we've got this down!"

Over and over, we run the Wildcat formation, refining our timing and execution with each repetition. Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes, but I refuse to let anything hold me back. I need to prove to myself, to Coach, and to those scouts that I'm worth their time and investment.

The last repetition distributes a healthy dose of accomplishment and unity through the team.

But amidst the high-fives and back-slapping, my mind starts to drift towards Blakely. I wonder what he's doing right now—maybe he's at home, curled up with one of his romance novels or volunteering at Rainbow Paws, taking care of those adorable animals. I imagine his perfect smile, his sexy body, and our passionate times together.

"Focus up, Brock!" Coach yells, snapping me out of my reverie. My teammates give me a curious look as I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts of Blakely and refocus on the task at hand.

"Sorry." I take my position again.

"Ready?" Coach asks once more, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Ready," I reply, though my heart is pounding for an entirely different reason.

Coach blows his whistle, and we run another play, but my soul isn't in it. Instead of sprinting down the sideline, I half-heartedly jog, barely drawing the attention of the cornerback. Jake gains fewer yards this time, and I know it's my fault.

"Damn it, Brock!" Coach shouts, blowing his whistle again and waving me over. "You're not focused!"

"Sorry, Coach," I say, breathing heavily. "I'm just... I'm in love, and it's making it hard to concentrate."

"Love?" Coach snorts, shaking his head. "This is football, son. You need to get your priorities straight. We've got a big game coming up next weekend, and if you can't focus, you're going to let the whole team down. Understand?"

"I understand, Coach," I reply, nodding solemnly. But deep down, I know that no matter how much I try, I can't keep Blakely from occupying my every thought.

"Alright, Brock," Coach says, his voice stern. "Head to the showers early. Second string quarterback will take your place for now. If you don't step up and focus, you won't play in the big game against the Bluejays next weekend."

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. Football has always been my life, but Blakely... he's changed everything. My face heats up with anger as I stomp my way to the locker room.

"Damn it," I curse under my breath, gripping my helmet tightly in my hand.

Once inside the locker room, I hurl my helmet at the ground, the sound echoing through the empty space. My jersey follows suit, landing in a crumpled heap beside it. I'm fuming, betrayed by my own heart.

Why can't I keep football and my love for Blakely separate?

"Stupid, stupid idiot," I mutter to myself, pacing back and forth.

As my anger slowly fades, I can't help but think about how much I've grown to care for Blakely. His laugh, the way his glasses sit on his cute nose, the warmth of his touch—it all sends shivers down my spine.

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