Page 85 of The Strike Zone

“Wh…what are you doing?”

“You’re going to be late for work. There’s no way I’m rushing this.”

I had to force the lump in my throat away. “We’re not rushing. I’m ready.”

He shook his head. “No, Davison. When I said rushing, I meant I’m not rushing our first time. I plan to take all night long, I’m going to worship you, starting the second the game finishes tonight.” His eyes glanced over to the clock and back to me. “Thirteen hours.”

It was going to be a long day.

TWENTY-ONE

PARKER

“Why are you being so twitchy?”

My eyes sliced left, I couldn’t see him properly, but I knew Ace was staring down at me with a deep frown. A deep frown and his dick hanging out. “Dude, can you get dressed?”

“What’s the rush? You know I like to air dry,” he replied, though humored me by covering himself with a towel. “Have you been on the Red Bull again?”

“What?”

“You’re super twitchy. The entire bench is shaking.”

I eased my hands under my thighs to stop them tapping. “I’m not twitchy. I’m tired.”

“You don’t seem tired. You seem twitchy.”

“I want the debrief to be over so we can all go to bed. Why’s everyone taking so long? Where’s Coach?”

He raised an eyebrow; I couldn’t tell whether he bought my explanation.

To be honest, I didn’t really care.

The only thing I did care about was getting the fuck out of the locker room and back to the hotel, but it didn’t look like the meeting was going to start any time soon, given half the guys were still in the shower, and Coach was nowhere to be seen.

I thought if I ran off the field, showered, and dressed at lightning speed, it might encourage everyone else to move their asses, but evidence pointed to the contrary.

Ace stopped drying himself, or whatever he was doing, and frowned again. “We’re not having a debrief.”

“What?”

“We’re not having a debrief. And Coach is talking to ESPN.”

“We’re not having a debrief?”

“What did I just say? Seriously, why are you being so weird?”

“We’re not having a debrief?” I jumped up, making no effort to contain my outrage. “Then what the fuck are we hanging around for?”

Ace pulled on a pair of briefs—fucking slowly, I might add, but at least we were heading in the direction of being fully dressed.

“Dude, no one’s hanging around, we all came off the field and got showered just like we normally do. You’re the only one who left dust behind. We’re all getting ready at the same speed, and the bus is leaving in twenty.”

I peered around the locker room. Perhaps Ace had a point, though I still didn’t understand why everyone was behaving like they had all the fucking time in the world. It was past eleven p.m., why did no one want to go to bed? At this rate it would be after midnight before we got back to the hotel.

I let out a huff and sat down again.

“Come to think of it,” he continued, “you were also twitchy in the dugout. Quiet too.”

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