Page 48 of The Pass Protection
“Damn, man. How many times is that now?”
“Five,” he grits.
Harris’s mom is a mess. Since he moved to CTU freshman year, his mom has moved five times now. Each time, she calls and begs him to come home to meet the new flavor of the month. He tries to keep her at arm’s distance to not create unnecessary drama for him, especially if the media were to catch wind. And that’s part of the problem, too. He never knows if the guys are legitimately interested in his mom or are looking for a way to get closer to him and the payday he’ll get when he becomes a professional quarterback.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I let out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, man.”
“It’s all good. Nothing I’m not used to.”
“Still fucking sucks.”
He chuckles. “That it does.”
“Listen, I know you want to work off your stress, but I don’t think this is what you need right now.”
“Gentlemen.” A voice sounds from the doorway, startling us. Turning our attention, we spot Coach leaning against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. “As much as I love to see the determination, what the hell are you guys doing here?”
I nod. “Hey, Coach.”
“I needed a workout, and I talked Riggsby into coming too.”
Coach’s stoic expression doesn’t give anything away. Instead, he places a foot in front of the other and makes his way over to us. He leans against a machine opposite Harris. “I get it, but I also don’t need my QB hurt. Go home, Tyler. Get some rest, and come back tomorrow focused.”
With a deep inhale, Harris nods. We both stand from our benches and start toward the doorway where our bags are. Coach Campbell follows us before he pushes open the doors and waits for us to exit.The three of us walk toward the lobby, no words being said. I can feel the frustration seeping off of Harris, and while I know he wants to push his body to the limit to feel some semblance of control, I also know that Coach is right. He doesn’t need to risk an injury because he’s pissed off.
“Night, gentlemen,” Hank calls from over his novel.
“Night,” we all reply in unison.
As we exit the main doors, Coach turns to walk in the opposite direction. He doesn’t get too far before he pauses and calls out to us. “Tell my girl her ol’ man says hi.”
And with that goodbye, he just reminded us that we are living with his daughter.
The girl I’m falling for…hard.
When I enter the apartment, sounds from the TV fill the otherwise quiet space. I set my backpack in my doorway before entering the living room while Harris stops in the kitchen.
A street racing movie is playing on the screen while Bret lounges on the couch, her nose in a paperback. Tonight must be the night for everyone to read. I stand quietly for a moment while watching her read her book. Her legs move together as she flips to the next page. Moving close, I lean over and read the word “cock” on the page. Is my little Rebel reading a dirty scene?
“Hey, Rebel.” Bret startles and lets out a squeal as she slams her book shut. She turns around, and her face is red.
“Shit, Crew. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to read the word cock on your page.” I didn’t think her face could blush more, but I watched as her cheek color deepened. Sliding between the couch and the coffee table, I plop in the corner seat of the sectional, kicking my legs up onto the table. “What’s your book about?”
She’s trying to avoid eye contact with me, and I smile at how flustered she is. Harris comes into the living room, interrupting our moment. “Hi, Tyler.”
“S’up, Bret?” Harris moves to the opposite side of the couch and takes a seat. “The Fast and The Furious Two?”
“Only the best one.” Bret turns onto her side and tucks her hands beneath her cheek as she watches the movie.
Glancing to my left, Harris is engrossed with the movie while chowing down on a cold meat sandwich. The dude looks rough as hell. Sliding my phone out of my pocket, I open our message thread.
Me: Is my girl feeling spicy?
I feel her phone vibrate against the couch’s material. The movie drowns out the sound. It’s not long before mine alerts me of a new message.
Rebel: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
