Page 22 of What are the Risks
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The timer went off, signalling a rest period.
Climbing off the bike with tired legs, I stared down my next exercise. Box jump burpees. The fucking worst.
Usually the day before a game our schedule was reserved for running scrimmages or classroom sessions. I had no clue what Coach was playing at with this cardio.
Just as the timer restarted, he killed the music. “That’s all for the day,” he called out. “Shower up then meet me in the media room.”
Thank fuck.
Generally the team was always chatty after a workout, but today they were deafeningly silent as we tracked to the locker room.
I made fast work of showering before redressing in my casual athletic gear. With this many guys, the showers filled up quickly.
My wardrobe at Phil-U was predominantly branded merch nowadays. We were expected to wear it to and from training and games – always repping the team – and with report days stretching across the week, there was barely a day I wasn’t in it.
Some head coaches made their players wear suits to games, but thankfully mine wasn’t one of them. I was a comfy clothes kind of guy.
“I’m making a protein smoothie,” Evan said as he pulled on his sneakers. “You want one?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
We had our own kitchen in the football facilities, which was always stocked with different types of protein. Powders. Bars. Yoghurts. You name it.
“Don’t fill up,” Brady warned him. “Tori booked a table at Gucci’s Steakhouse for six p.m.”
I rested a hand on my protesting stomach. There was no way I was making it until then.
Pat snickered. “Tori has your balls in her palm, Brady.”
My cousin merely shrugged. “So what? Those balls constantly get blown by her, so if it means I don’t eat after practice so I can make the dinner she booked, I’ll fucking do it.”
You couldn’t argue with that logic.
Tori was at our house every second day, and Brady spent the opposite nights at her sorority home. They basically lived together withoutofficiallyliving together.
“Speaking of being blown,” Kyler chimed in. “Did anyone see Gretchen Huntington in the gym? I’d let her squeeze my fucking balls.”
Gretchen was a popular Phil-U cheerleader. Her clique of girls were always at the biggest parties, so she was a face many of the guys knew well. Not to mention she was poster-girl hot, and the booty shorts and crops she always wore in the athlete’s gym certainly encouraged many of my teammates’ imaginations.
“Get Murray to give you an introduction,” I mentioned. “Last I saw, he was hooking up with Summer Spritz.”
Summer was the captain of the cheerleading squad, and she also happened to be the bane of my existence at the moment.
Long story short, at the beginning of the semester I’d struck a deal with the hockey captain, Levi Holloway, about who could hook up with the exchange student in our statistics group first.
The bet had backfired massively when both Levi and I realised how cool Grace was. Unfortunately, Holloway got to her first and they’d started dating. But that was all up in the air now.
When my friends had questioned why I was interested in Grace, I’d filled them in on the bet, and after a drunken night with the team – not me, but basically every other guy – the bet had somehow spread. Murray, my running back, had let it slip to Summer when they started hooking up. Because Summer still harboured a crush on Holloway ever since sleeping with him, she’d told Grace about the bet to meddle.
Of course it had all exploded in Holloway’s face – and mine too. When Levi came to my house to talk it through this week, I’d been expecting him to murder me. Somehow I’d convinced him to drink it off instead.
