Page 31 of Third and Ten

“Just let me grab my stuff, Coach.” Ethan walks inside, and my mom snatches the empty pitcher and follows him in before I can scamper away first.

“Nice pajamas,” JD remarks once we’re alone. I glance down at my dingy New Orleans T-shirt and matching shorts, then bring my knees up to wrap my arms around my shins.

“Believe it or not, they were a gift from my dad,” I reply, and he nods appreciatively, a smile playing at his lips.

“He’s definitely one of the most loyal fans I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine he gave you much choice in the matter.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve always liked football, I suppose. How about you?” I’m not sure why I engage him in conversation, except maybe to diffuse some of the awkwardness.

“You mean, do I like football?” he asks, grinning.

I roll my eyes playfully, and he continues. “Saints fan, born and raised, though I was partial to the Texans for that little while they kept me on the payroll.”

“Fair enough.” I bite my lip, having forgotten for a second that I’m talking to a former pro, though he certainly looks like he could still hold his own on the football field. I keep my eyes down, feeling more and more self-conscious in JD’s presence by the second.

“Tenley,” he begins after a second. “I, uh…I was…”

I glance up to find him staring at me with my stained pajamas and my messy bed head, and I suddenly feel like I can’t bear to let him see me like this for another second. Luckily, the front door creaks as Ethan steps out onto the porch again.

“Ready, Coach?”

JD looks away, his lips moving as if he’s scolding himself. “Yeah, let’s go, bud,” he finally says to Ethan.

“Later, Aunt Ten,” Ethan bids me as he passes by.

JD stands and places his empty glass on the table. He glances my way one more time and gives me a halfhearted smile before he and Ethan get into his truck and drive off. I exhale slowly, considering what he might have wanted to say before I go inside.

“Nice pj’s,” my dad calls as I join him in the living room.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I guess you have good taste.”

“Maybe it’s just the way you’re wearing them,” he counters.

“Ha ha,” I return sarcastically as I plop down onto the couch.

I unlock my phone out of habit as my dad switches the TV to a college football pre-show. The analysts discuss their predictions for the evening’s LSU matchup just as the former Tigers tight end appears on my timeline, making me roll my eyes again.

It really is unfair how JD manages to be everywhere all the time.

I study the picture he tagged me in earlier. The two of us are posing with the grocery-store owner, and the way I’m leaning into JD while his arm is wrapped around me implies a certain level of comfort, or even intimacy, between us.

My eyes dart around the room nervously before I take the plunge and click on his profile. I scroll down, careful not to accidentally like any of his older photos. Most of his posts seem impersonal and generic, save for a few photos with Blake. I close one platform and open the next, snorting quietly when I see a TikTok he made with some of his students. He’s a terrible dancer, which makes me smile a little too easily. I continue scrolling backward on his Instagram until I pass a few gym selfies, which I’ve never been a fan of until now, and eventually happen upon some posts from his football career.

I blink at the screen as I audibly gulp. Then I force myself to look away, hoping my heart rate has shot up because I’m paranoid and not because I’ve been staring too hard at JD in a fitted uniform, those giant hands of his wrapped around a football. I close the app quickly, resigning myself back to the TV.

But I. Am. Weak.

By the next commercial break, I’m retreating to my room to Google him, and the results are not disappointing. I flick through a few different photos of him on the field or in a locker room until I unintentionally click on an interview. His voice comes through the speakers, and I pause the video and throw my phone down onto the bed, disgusted with myself. I groan and vow not to do that again.

I could probably convince myself that there is no harm in allowing some detached appreciation of JD’s physique, except I know that he’ll pop up entirely too often in person, and things are already awkward enough. I’m not here to admire anyone, much less to go looking for the temptation to act upon any kind of attraction.

Not that there is any attraction on my end—only appreciation.

Still, I pick up my phone, close all the windows, and clear my browsing history, just in case temptation strikes again.

CHAPTER 11

JD

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