Page 7 of The Heartbreak Blitz

“I don’t know,” I hedge. “I might’ve celebrated our win a little too hard.”

“But that was days ago,” Liz states with a smile, like she’s trying to win Warner football trivia.

“Well, the season is in full swing now. You know how it is. …But,” I give my trademark smirk to each of them, “never say never.”

“You’re such a tease,” Cassie remarks.

I shrug. “I can’t help it. If I say I’m going to be there, I’ll have too many girls lined up, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Tina leans in close to the fence, her manicured nails gripping the metal. “It’ll be our little secret, then.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Brooks jogging onto the field, ready for practice.Shit. I’m late. “Well, ladies, I better go. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye, babe,” one of the girls calls out.

I pat Brooks on the shoulder as I jog past. He’s routinely early to every practice, making the rest of us look like rookies, but it’s who he is. He’d rather be insanely early than one second late. The man is a beast.

On my way toward the locker room, I pass Aidan jogging with his helmet in his hands. “Fucker beat me again. I swear he keeps getting here earlier and earlier.”

I chuckle. As our new QB1, taking over Reid’s spot, he’s set to become captain next season, and he’s had this weird competition with everyone, trying to prove himself against nearly impossible standards.

I burst through the locker room doors and start galloping around. “Let’s gooooooooo!”

High-pitched whistles and cheers rise up when I pass, holding the reins on my fake horse. My teammates whoop it up while simultaneously shaking their heads.

Coach steps out of his office with a clipboard in his hands. “If you weren’t such a good receiver, you could be the mascot. Get your ass ready for practice, Farmer.”

“I might have to take you up on that next year when my eligibility runs out.” I spin a fake lasso and catch Coach just as he frowns at me.

The look he gives me tells me to stop messing around, so I settle at my locker and sit. Lex used to flank me on the left, with Reid on the other side of him. And now every time I look to my left and find a new teammate there, my heart constricts. It’s the name of the game, but I’ve played with those guys since peewee, so it’s been a hard pill to swallow.

Even worse is that I know I’ll never play with them again.

“If you’re the one left behind, you wither away day by day.”

Huh. Maybe she’s got a point…

4

Charley

The Warner University locker room smells like a concoction of BO, feet, and other things I’d rather not imagine. Before I enter the space, I take a deep breath and hold it. Of course, it only lasts as long as I can risk not breathing before I keel over. The only thing that keeps me from doing that is the idea of dying in this locker room. I might smell like eau de nasty boy forever.

What a terrible afterlife that would make.

The only good thing about being in the locker room is that I’ve never seen so many chiseled chests in my life. Not that I care. Or that I was standing around looking. Absolutely not. I’m here to be Coach T’s assistant, that’s all. A clear, professional capacity.

It’s not my fault I was still in here cleaning the benches like Coach asked me to when practice ended and all the guys filed in. Or that he called me into his office while the guys were walking to the showers.

At least it doesn’t smell like athlete’s foot in Coach’s office, though I don’t miss the air freshener he has hanging from a filing cabinet drawer.

“How’s it going?” he asks. “The boys haven’t given you a hard time, have they?” My face heats up, but he doesn’t notice. I wonder if he would count one of his players tackling me—nearly twice—as giving me a hard time. He keeps talking before I can answer. “They’re good kids. They might be a little over the top, so let whatever they say bounce right off you. They’re just a bunch of competitive athletes with testosterone. It’s natural.”

I guess competitive athletes with testosterone don’t spare me a glance—not that I’m not used to that or complaining. I’d rather it be that way.

“All good, Coach,” I answer, stomach in knots. I don’t know if it’s because of the stories my dad told me or the fact that he’s one of the most well-respected people on campus, but Coach T is intimidating.

“How’s your dad?”

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