Page 55 of Game On
If I can convince her that skirting around the rules wouldbe worth it, then we could make things work. As Levi would say, what our coaches don’t know won’t kill them.
Nashville soon fades in the rearview mirror, and my teammates keep up their loud chatter. But I’m zoned out, too caught up in planning, in wondering, in waiting for what might happen later tonight.
We pull into the hotel parking lot just as the sun sets. I grab my duffel and follow Levi as he pats an erratic drumbeat against my shoulder, and almost skips ahead of me toward the lobby.
My best friend is always hyped before a game; he thrives on the rush of anticipation. I’m the opposite. I’m the man who can’t help but be in his own head. It’s more than just simple introspection; it’s an internal dialogue that never quite shuts off. Every action, every decision, gets analyzed and reanalyzed.
It’s exhausting at times, this tendency to overthink, to constantly question not just my actions but my motivations and feelings. But it’s a part of me I’ve learned to accept over the years.
“Hey, bud,” Levi calls out from a few paces ahead. “If there’s only one bed in our room, I’ll let you have the window side.”
“If there’s only one bed,” I say, straight-faced, “we’re rebooking.”
He chuckles while he waits for me to catch up. His is the kind of carefree energy that’s contagious, momentarily lifting the weight off my shoulders.
At the check-in desk, we get our key cards, and then headto the team meeting in the conference room. The coaches give us the final pep talk and run-through of tomorrow’s game plan, emphasizing the importance of a good night’s rest, no alcohol, and no late-night escapades, especially not with the cheerleaders.
After the meeting, we go back to our room. There are two double beds and a chain-link lock on the door. Coach still monitors the rookies at night, sticking a piece of tape over the crack to see if they leave their rooms. The veterans, though, are off the hook.
He made the rules clear enough at our meeting, although my plan does require bending them just a little. Levi eyes me curiously as I grab my phone, shake out my hands, and wipe them down the front of my jeans.
“What’s with you?” he asks, a frown creasing his brow. “You were jittery downstairs, and now you’re acting like even more of a weirdo.”
“I’m just cooking up a plan,” I say, my thumbs tapping on the screen, ordering enough food to feed a small army—or one hungry football player. “Do me a favor, go chill in Harlen’s room for a bit?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Why? You planning some secret rendezvous?”
“Something like that,” I reply distractedly.
“This isn’t about … you needingalone time, is it? Because—”
I throw a pillow at him, missing by a mile. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just want to talk to Ella.”
He gives me a sly smile. “Ah, so you finally took my bait.”
I wave him off. “Sure, man.”
“You’re welcome, by the way. You want to run the play by me?”
“I just ordered some food,” I start to explain. “A lot of it. It’s going up to Ella’s room on the ninth floor. When they give her my name, I’m hoping she’ll come down here to deliver. Then, we can talk. Just the two of us.”
“And what if she’s caught by Coach?”
I grin at the thought. There’s something about the idea of bending the rules that feels a little exciting. “She’s quick on her feet. It will be fine.”
He laughs. “Sounds half-cocked, but alright.”
“Look, I don’t want to just show up at her door. She’d be unprepared, might have other girls in the room. If I make her come to me, she knows what she’s getting into.”
Levi nods, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “Well, if you need the room, you’ve got it. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Right,” I say as he heads out. “That leaves me a lot of leeway.”
His footsteps fade down the hall, and I walk into the bathroom, turning on the cold tap. I splash some water onto my face and stare into the mirror. My eyes are a little too intense, my jaw set a little too tight.
“Calm down,” I mutter to myself, patting my face dry with a towel. “It’s just a conversation.”
Back in the room, I pace for a few minutes, then give up and flop onto the bed. I grab the remote and flick through channels, settling on some sitcom reruns. They should bemindless enough to keep me distracted, but I barely register what’s on the screen. Instead, I glance repeatedly at the door, listening for any sign of movement outside.
