Page 47 of The Pass Protection
Saylor: If you say so.
Sliding my phone in my pocket, I shake my head. Silence falls over us as we walk the vacant sidewalks toward the football facility. Harris is lost in his thoughts and I let him stew with them. Tyler Harris is one of the best guys I know. He’s insanely intelligent, dedicated, and caring. Harris is the person you want in your corner. This is why I’m letting him fester in his thoughts until we get to the weight room, and then I will snap him out of it.
Another vibration from my pocket has me reaching for my phone. I fully expect it to be more pictures from Saylor of the new calf, which is why I’m surprised to see ‘Rebel’ flash across the screen.
Rebel: *image of her lying in bed from the neck down, only wearing a lace bralette and matching panties.*
Rebel: Sitting alone in this quiet apartment, I can’t get you out of my mind.
My jaw drops as I stare at the image. Running my hand down my face, I scratch at my close-cut beard.
Me: Fuck, Rebel. I want to blow this workout off with Harris and come home to you.
Rebel: I’ll keep my door unlocked.
Me: Good. I’m starving.
Rebel: Starving? Want me to order you food?
Me: Starving for you. My tongue is missing your taste, Rebel.
Rebel: Mmmm…maybe you should skip that workout.
Pocketing my phone, I push open the door and find Harris leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Am I keeping you from a hot date?”
“No.” Startled, I try to keep the tremble from my voice. Does he know about us? There’s no way. We’ve been keeping things down low.
He drops the conversation as we walk further inside the football facility lobby.
Hank, the night guard, glances up from his paperback. “Good evening, boys. What brings you here tonight?”
“Thought we’d get a workout in and work off some steam.” Harris gestures with his head toward the hallway which leads to the weight room.
“You know, back in my day, we’d find a lady friend to help with that.”
We laugh, taken aback by the older man’s comment: “Yeah, well, tonight I need to be alone with my thoughts.”
“I saw that interview with that idiot reporter. Don’t let them get to you, Mr. Harris.”
“I’m trying not to, Hank.”
Hank turns his attention back to his novel as we walk down the hall. Each time I come in here, I still take in the magnitude of this space. I love looking at all the trophies, awards, and highlights from past players. It keeps my motivation high and my desire to keep winning at the forefront of my mind.
I pull open the glass door to the workout room as Harris enters. The space is empty, and the smell of cleaning solution hits my senses. An empty gym is the perfect place to quiet the mind.
Tossing our backpacks to the side, Harris switches on the sound system as Def Leppard plays through the speakers.
“Now you’re talking,” I say, sitting down on the leg press while Harris takes his position on the shoulder press machine.
We fall silent as a cacophony of sounds fills the air from the beat of the music and the clanking of weights from the machines. After a few rounds, I glance over at my friend and see his look of determination and frustration.
“Dude, your thoughts are drowning out the music.”
He grunts as he pulls the metal bar down and the pulley raises a heavy amount of weight. “I got a call from my mom before practice today.”
“Ah, that explains the shitty practice.” Dropping the weight back, I place my feet on the ground and rest my bent elbows on my knees.
“Yeah. I guess she met another new guy, and she’s moving again.” He pulls the metal bar down again, grunting at the exertion.
