Page 173 of Drop Three

Damn, it feels good to be back.

I send him a look of uncertainty. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, man. You’re my boy. I had no idea. I mean, look at her…she’s incredible,” Briggs says, pointing at Navy across the field.

I knew exactly where she was before he said anything.

I beam at the sight of my little earthquake.

She’s interviewing the coach for the other team with Coach Leggins, and seeing her doing what she does best makes me proud.

It’s as if Navy knows I’m watching because she blows me a cute kiss, smiles brightly, and carries on with her interview.

With my eyes already dialed in on her, I take her in from afar.

Her neon yellow stilettos showcase her long, tan legs. We’ve been spending more time by the pool lately, and my pale girl is turning sun-kissed. Her black shorts have pleats by her navel, giving her hips that delicious hourglass shape I love so much. My favorite part about her outfit choice, however, is my last name plastered in neon across her black Strikers jersey.

Bodhi St. James. #33.

If I had a kink—this would be it. Can’t wait to fuck her in it later.

Another thing that makes me happier than I care to admit is that Jared is nowhere to be found.

After my phone call with Coach Leggins, it was a matter of days before Jared was sent packing and banned from Makers for good.

Good riddance.

“Fuck off, Briggs, She’s mine,” I tell him.

Thankfully, he laughs. “Yes, I know. You made that very clear.” Good, I’m glad we have a mutual understanding. “Quick question, though,” he continues, “Navy got any sisters? I’m lonely, man.”

Idiot.

“You looking for a new mommy or something?”

“Or something,” Briggs says.

“Only a brother, fortunately for me,” Cal walks up, throwing his arms around the both of us.

“That’s a shame,” Briggs tells him.

“What’s a shame?” Gus makes his way into the conversation.

“The size of your dick,” Cal tells Gus. We burst into laughter as Gus fights to maintain his man card. “Hey, now. I never get complaints.”

I shake my head, questioning how I can be so different from these dudes yet somehow could never live without them.

“Atlanta boys, where you at?” Mack yells above the stadium speakers, drawing our attention and amping up the team for our first spring training game of the season.

It’s go time.

With the whole team bouncing on our feet, we holler and chant, “We right hereeeee!”

“My House” by Flo Rida plays over the Makers Park surround sound, sending us out to take the field and kick off a new season.

This is our house. These people are my family. That woman over there is my present and future.

And the future is looking really fucking bright.

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