Page 15 of The Late Hit
“Eagles on three. One! Two! Three!”
“Eagles!” the team responds as JP hits play on his playlist. “Win” by Jay Rock blares throughout the locker room.
My body is still jittery. The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins. The only way I’m going to settle down is to see Brynn and celebrate at the house. Unlacing my shoulder pads, I watch as some of the guys dance around the locker room. Grant steps up next to me to help pull the tight, sweaty jersey from my hot and sticky body. Removing a jersey post-game is such a process. Once I’m finally free, I toss the jersey into the hamper the team provides. Thank God for team laundry.
I’m going to miss these guys when the season ends if I decide to go pro. It’s hard to believe how fast these three years are going. I know there are always going to be other teams and teammates, but there’s something special about the bond we’ve formed here.
Xavier breaks my train of thought. “You going to see Mom and Dad?”
Barely making any eye contact with him, I answer with a strong, “Nope.”
My relationship with my parents is a roller coaster. I know they both love me, but sometimes they’re just suffocating. My brothers and I are gifted at football, but I’m the only one of us that has had college scouts stalking me since high school. Both of my parents want me to skip my senior year of college and enter the draft. Skipping my senior year was never my goal. Truth is, I like school and I want to finish my degree. If the cards line up for the possibility that I go first round, then I’ll consider it. I’d be stupid not to. But it’s going to be my decision to make.
Dad enjoys the attention that comes with having a son ‘follow in his footsteps’ and Mom wants me to find some hoity-toity princess to have on my arm. That’s not my style. Damien didn’t even play after high school. And while Xav is good, he’s only a sophomore, and he’s got a lot of work to do.
And for some unknown reason, my mom doesn't approve of Brynn, and that shit isn’t going to fly.
“What am I supposed to tell them?” Xavier asks, not taking the hint that this is the last thing I want to talk about. I don't want this high to fade.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I finish stripping my boxers off. I grab my shower stuff and start walking toward the shower before turning over my shoulder.
“I don’t give a shit what you tell them. Tell them I’m going to celebrate my fucking win without their goddamn nagging.”
Making the walk into the showers, I find an open stall. Stepping into the shower, I remove my towel and turn on the water. Standing under the faucet, I let the hot water beat against my skin. Every muscle aches, and I could use an ice bath and a massage, but I’m not sticking around for that shit tonight. Tonight’s party will have plenty of willing participants to rub down my body. Grabbing my all-in-one wash, I scrub the sweat, dirt, and grime off my body.
Toweling off, I make my way back to my locker, and slip on a fresh pair of boxer briefs. Grabbing my navy joggers and powder-blue long-sleeve, I get dressed. Coach requires us to wear suits when we arrive, but team apparel is acceptable when we leave. Thank God. Putting on a suit is the worst after a game.
“Party at your house, Q?” Riggsby asks, slapping a hand on my shoulder.
I give a sly grin before responding, “Hell yeah! Baseball guys are getting it set up.”
The baseball team and some of the football players have worked out a system that whenever one of us wins a big game, the other sets up the party. Attending a big campus like this has its perks. There’s always some wannabe DJ who is down to spin some tracks. All our parties are BYOB because we’re not paying for kegs and being responsible for others. It’s bad enough that we’ve got to be somewhat responsible since we host. A few of the backup linemen play security guards at our parties to keep the crowd under control. Fighting isn’t tolerated unless it’s deserved, but really, it’s not tolerated.
The locker room begins to empty out. Everyone is ready to celebrate. As I get closer to the door, I hear voices rising from outside the door.
What the fuck?
“So which one of your many men are you waiting for tonight?” a girl asks in a high-pitched, Valley Girl voice.
It’s a voice I can easily recognize as Tiffani’s. She’s the campus mean girl. Not only is she a major jersey chaser, but she’s a cleat chaser, puck bunny, or whatever gets her closer to one of us athletes.
“Will,” I hear Brynn quip back.
Like hell she is waiting on that prick, especially after I heard him bragging about his night with Tiffani before the game.
Turning the corner, I spot Brynn leaning against the wall. Her body is on full display and looking like sin in that red crop top, and denim skirt that barely covers her ass and makes her legs look even longer, especially with those white cowboy boots.
Goddamn, she’s trouble.
Tiffani scoffs, but before she can respond, Brynn continues. “Oh no, wait, I heard you’ve moved on to my sloppy seconds.” Continuing, she looks Tiffani in her eyes. “I guess it’s time for me to choose from other available men.” Brynn rolls her eyes at Tiffani and her attempt to slut-shame her.
“It’s amazing you haven’t passed a disease around campus,” Tiffani replies in disgust, which is rich coming from her.
Will is in front of me, taking in the scene. He must have put Tiffani on the list after their hook-up last night. And a few feet from Brynn stand my parents, who I did not put on the approved list. Dammit, Xavier. This is not going to go well.
“Well, if I’m crawling with diseases, enjoy my leftovers. Now move along, I don’t have time for you.” Brynn gives her the brush off by pulling her phone out of her back pocket like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Only deep down, I know she cares. There is nothing wrong with the way Brynn lives her life. If she were a guy, she’d be constantly getting high fives. Hell, every guy in our locker room is getting high fives and constant praises over our conquests. Body counts are the new football stat.
