Page 8 of The Late Hit
Shutting off the blender, Jeremiah pours the chocolate peanut butter protein shake into two separate cups and hands me one.
Grabbing the drink, I set it on the counter next to my phone before moving over to the pantry to grab some snacks for the day.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Is Xavier up?”
“No clue. But I’m not waiting around to find out,” I answer.
Xavier might be my brother, but I’m not his babysitter. He can set his own alarm and make sure he’s up for practice. I’m not going to coddle him like our mom does.
Heading back over the counter, I grab all of my shit and head to the garage. As I am throwing my bags in the back, Xavier makes his way out, looking rough.
“Dude, what the hell happened to you?” I ask, pausing with my hand on the back door.
“Might’ve stayed up too late entertaining a lady and her friend.” He shrugs, a smirk sliding over his face. I just shake my head. “Can I get a ride?”
“Yep, let’s go,” I answer before shutting the back door.
Xav tosses his bag in the back before tossing himself in the front seat. The house clears out, everyone in their cars, and off to hell we go.
Leaving the weight room, I make my way toward campus. I slip in my AirPods as a smile stretches across my face. My legs may be dead, but I’m damn happy. It’s Monday. The first Monday of the football season. It’s game week. And a big game waits for us on Saturday.
This is what I live for, and nothing and no one is going to bring me down. It’s time to get focused. I’m taking my team to the ‘ship and bringing home the hardware. My hands are itching to feel the cold stainless steel of the National Championship trophy. My arms are aching to raise the fifty-pound trophy above my head.
My dad might think this is all his doing, but he didn’t put in the blood, sweat, and tears. I did. I’ve been busting my ass to make a name for myself. He’s not taking the glory from me.
I’m three songs into my playlist when I feel a presence beside me. Glancing to my left, I see one of the jersey chasers. Internally, I groan. I refuse to acknowledge her in conversation, just give her a look hoping she takes the hint. Only she interprets my ‘go away’ look as a sign that I want to talk. I don’t.
“Hey, Q, baby,” she purrs in her fake seductive voice, moving her body right in front of me. My eyes are rolling in my head. “You’ve got a big game this weekend. Need some help relaxing?”
“Nah, Jaz, I’m good.” Turning up my music, I step around her.
She doesn’t take the hint and keeps walking with me. Girls like her are so predictable. She thinks that walking next to me will stake a claim, and other girls will back off. Only too bad for Jaz, I don’t do jersey chasers. I’m no saint, but I know the difference between a jersey chaser and a girl that’s looking to hook up for a quick release. Jaz is a thirsty jersey chaser and looking to trap a guy.
Doing my best to ignore Jaz and her incessant chatting, Siri announces I have a new text. Reaching into my pocket, I pull my phone out.
My eyes scan the quad before I find the bright blonde hair that belongs to my best friend. She’s sitting outside the Union, puffing on her vape pen, looking fierce.
The dots appear quickly, letting me know she’s typing.
I chuckle at my screen, watching her get up and head inside. Jaz sighs heavily beside me, causing me to flinch. I forgot she was still standing here.
“She’s trash,” Jaz states.
“Find some other free dick to ride,” I snap, leaving her there with her mouth wide open. I’m not a mean person. I keep a lot of shit inside, but I don’t put up with mean girls. Mean girls are catty, full of gossip, and cause nothing but problems. I don’t need that shit in my life.
Opening the doors, I enter the Union, scanning the mostly empty space for Brynn.
“Wilder,” I yell, still scanning the room. That’s when I see her head pop up and look toward the doors. “Breakfast is on me.”
She breaks out into a wide smile.
Yeah, it’s going to be a great week.
“Wakeup!Wakeup!Wake up!” Macy screams as she comes barging into my room. I was still sound asleep with my sheets barely covering my body in a pair of tiny sleep shorts and a tank. “It’s the first game of the season, bitch. Wake up!”
Groaning, I lift my sleep mask to see Macy standing beside me with a Jell-O shot in one hand. Our annual tradition is to kick off game day with a morning shot, followed by spending a couple of hours drinking coffee and getting ready, and then we head to the game. This year, the first game of the season is a night game, which is always trouble for us, but the atmosphere of a night game can’t be beat. Not only are night games a blast, but this year we are having a rematch of last year’s playoff game, which we lost. Tonight’s game is a huge deal.
