Page 81 of The Game Plan
“What’s up, Sav?” A deep voice startles me from behind as a muscular arm is draped over my shoulder.
The girls’ eyes widen, and I glance at the owner of the tan arm.
Relief washes over me as I stare at Tyler Harris, the quarterback of the football team and a member of our circle. He also happens to be Bret and Crew’s third roommate.
I clear my throat and offer a friendly smile, forever grateful for his presence. “Hey, Harris.”
Tierney, Kayla, and Layla are all muttering something, trying to get his attention, but he never glances toward them. He keeps his full attention on me.
“Were you heading out? I was walking to the lot if you want some company?”
I beam. “Absolutely!”
With his arm still draped around mine, he starts to steer me in the direction of the parking lot. Kayla’s hand drops free with the movement, and I don’t even spare them a goodbye.
“I could kiss you right now,” I mumble.
He barks out a laugh. “I don’t think yourhusbandwould like that.”
My eyes dart around to make sure no one overheard us.
“Relax, no one’s around. Besides, I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks blush. “Where have you been anyway?”
He shrugs.
“Tyler Harris, are you seeing someone?”
It’s his turn to blush as his cheeks morph into a light pink. “You dog. Who’s the lucky lady?”
Tyler shakes his head. “Nah, it’s nothing serious. I’ve got to focus on football.”
“Uh huh.” I let him have his out. He’s clearly not ready to talk about whatever is going on in his personal life, and I respect that. Sometimes, we keep things to ourselves until we’re sure they’ll work out. Once the news is out, there’s so much scrutiny and pressure from the outside world. And with his position on the football team and his chances for a first-round draft pick, I can’t imagine how loud the outside noise is.
I point in the direction of my car and walk beside Tyler with a little more confidence. No matter how challenging this semester gets, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
With the people who matter most.
“Bro, what the fuck?” Crew asks, tossing his controller at me. My distracted ass allowed him to get killed again.
Harris chuckles as he clicks away on his controller.
“What are you laughing at, Harris? You're camped out and hiding from the action,” Crew grumbles, crossing his arms against his chest while he watches Harris and me continue the mission.
It’s Friday night—the eve before our first game.
We should all be in bed, resting, meditating, or something. Instead, we’re sprawled out on my couch, playingCall of Duty, boxes of half-eaten pizza on the coffee table, as if we’re sixteen and don’t have a care in the world.
As one of the coaches, I should’ve demanded that they have a nutritious dinner, something like grilled chicken and veggies, but fuck it. Instead of killing zombies, I should focus on game film and visualizing success. At least that’s what my dad would be doing, but there’s nothing more I can do right now. Tomorrow will be a new day.
“It’s a strategy,” Harris claps back.
Crew rolls his eyes. “It’s called being a chickenshit.”
“It’s his ego,” I shoot back.
Harris scoffs. “Thisegowon us the championship…twice.”
