Page 6 of 1st and 10 (Season of Change #1)
“Good practice today!” Beiler yells as we enter the locker room. I breathe deep, inhaling the stale sweat, and body odor, and too much cologne to compensate for both. Smells like home.
“Good practice? Were we watching the same bunch of pussies out there on the field? Might as well trade their pants for rainbow tutus. At least they’ll be dressed properly for the prancing they do out there!”
We ignore Coach Heacock and his ridiculousness, giving Coach Beiler a high-five as we pass him on our way to our lockers and the showers.
Practice was brutal but necessary. Our next game, this weekend, is against an undefeated rival we lost to during regular season and the second round of playoffs last year.
The room fills with a cacophony of sounds, the soundtrack to my life; lockers slamming shut, the showers running, teammates horsing around, towels snapping, a couple of guys taking post-practice shits.
“Prib!” My head snaps up, towel wrapped around my waist, my hair dripping down my back from my shower. Coach glares at me from across the locker room. “My office!” I reach for my clothes—“NOW!”
Naked it is. And he thinks we’re gay.
“Close the door.” He commands the moment my foot crosses the threshold.
“Sit down.” He’s allergic to the word please.
“Third game of the season coming up, your last season.” I resist rolling my eyes, knowing where this is going.
“Got a few scouts looking at you for the pros, real interested in how you do in the combine. It’s just a few short months away—”
“Coach. I’m having déjà vu.” His bushy white eyebrows slant in confusion. “When a moment feels familiar.” He’s still not getting it, perhaps he’s been hit one too many times in the head. “We’ve talked about this. I am not interested in playing profes—”
“Bullshit. You aren’t gonna pass up an opportunity like this.”
“Yes. I am.” He doesn’t fucking get it. The money, the accolades, the global theatre…
not for me. Yeah, the millions would be great, but I love my family farm, it’s in my fucking DNA.
My parents would keep it going until I retired, but that’s not my vision of the future.
I want my hands in the soil of my ancestors.
I want to eat food I planted, cultivated, and picked myself.
I want to be who I was always meant to be.
And if Phia was by my side…
“Fame. Fortune. Every door in the world open to you.”
“I’m only concerned with the door to my family’s farmhouse.”
“Millions of dollars. You could buy all the farmhouses! And the women—”
“Coach.” I’ve been tolerant until now.
“Models. Actresses. Beautiful, tall, easy pussy—”
“Enough!” I yell, slamming my hand on his desk as I stand, my other hand securing the towel around my waist. I’m about to rip into him, I don’t need my junk flapping in the wind while I do it.
“You wanna fuck around with Buddha bitch behind closed doors here, if that’s your thing, but she isn’t built for—” I don’t stop him sooner because I’m fucking stunned speechless at his audacity.
“E-FUCKING-NOUGH!” Both hands fisted on the edge of the desk, nudity be damned, I lean over it, getting in his face.
Our eyes meet and for the first time I see fear in his rheumy eyes.
My blood is pumping, jaw clenching, as I glare him down.
“This topic of discussion is OVER. Do not bring up my future again, I am quite capable of handling it on my own. And my love life is NEVER up for discussion. And you’d be smart to keep your racist, outdated, misogynistic views to yourself, or I’d be more concerned about your own future.
” I stand up straight, turn around and throw open his office door, letting it slam shut behind me.
That motherfucker! He caught me naked just out of the shower, so I didn’t have my phone to record that epic shit-show. A pile of towels sits to the side of the locker room entrance, and I kick my bare foot through it sending them flying.
“FUCK!” Now, I have to pick them all up because it’s not the towel boy’s fault.
Well, Lyndell is almost 30, so not a boy, and obviously older than me.
He has developmental delays and is the older brother of our mascot, Tyrone.
Ty and I have been friends since freshman year.
He’d been the backup quarterback but busted his arm up in a car accident right before sophomore year.
The staff worked hard to help him and with rehab he was able to take over as the school mascot.
“It’s ok, Prib. I’ll get ‘em.”
“No, Lyn, I’m the goofus who kicked ‘em, I’m the goofus who’s picking them up." I bend down to start scooping them up. I stop when Lyndell starts giggling. “What?”
“Maybe you should put pants on, Prib. Or everyone’s gonna see your Mr. Winkie.” Chuckling, I stand up, hand to the knot of my towel and nod in agreement.
“You’re right. That wouldn’t be good.” I lean in close to whisper, grinning at how excited he is to be in on something, “Everyone would be jealous because my Mr. Winkie is big.” His laughter follows me all the way to my locker.
I’m pulling up my pants when I’m surrounded by a few teammates.
Gill leans against the locker next to mine and lifts his chin to a fifth-year senior on defense, Schultz.
I’m grabbing my t-shirt as Schultz clears his throat. “Uh…” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck nervously. “You need to be careful.”
My spine stiffens. Gill puts his hand on my shoulder, but my hackles are up. “Oh, yeah?”
Schultz lifts his hands up, “Not me, man. Coach.” My body only grows more tense at his clarification. “He’s got a hard-on for your girl—”
“My girl?” Schultz rolls his eyes with a smirk.
“You ain’t shy about your interest in Miss Hydration.” I shrug, he’s not wrong. “Plus, she’s your type from A to I’m guessing triple D or F.”
“I like you, Schultz.” He smiles. “I will like you less if you mention my girl’s tits again.”
He nods, smirk gone. “Sure. Uh, I just meant to say that Coach is known for policing his players, not just on the field but off. He suspects you like her, probably thinks you want to fuck her, he can’t imagine anyone wanting a…
womanly woman as a life partner. Probably why he’s been married 4 times to skinny, bleached gold diggers.
” My lips purse and my eyes narrow. He gets the hint.
“Sorry, back to my point. You remember Tully?”
“Yeah. Tulsewicz. All-American running back, quit his junior year for reasons unknown to anyone but him.”
“Not exactly,” Schultz replies. “I played with him my freshman year. Incredible player, obviously. Loved the game, had thoughts of going pro. Been with his girl since middle school. Loved her more than the game. Coach tried coming between them, set him up to get caught with some sorority chicks. Tully flipped shit and his girl caught him screaming and yelling at the chicks, then taking her by the hand and leading her to coach’s fucking front door.
Told him to fuck off and he’d see him in court.
The school settled privately since it wasn’t really a legal issue, and Tully went back home to his hometown.
Get a Christmas card from him every year.
Married that girl and they have an adorable little girl and he’s an independent scout for college athletes.
He isn’t the first Coach has done this to. ”
Staunton raises his hand. “I’m sorry, that sucks, but are we gonna talk about how he said womanly woman ?”
“He likes ‘em real thick and juicy—”
“Keep quoting that song and find out what my fist tastes like.”
“ He tastes like artificial turf.” I crack a smile at Gill’s Forrest Gump impression.
An image of Phia pops into my head and that smile dies a quick death.
I can’t let her get involved in Coach’s games.
That conversation we just had in his office sits heavy, like a ball of lead in my gut.
He isn’t gonna let this go. The more players he has go pro from his team, the more attention he receives, the more leverage he has with the board and his contract, the bigger that man’s ego gets.
“So, what do I do?” I’m open to suggestions. I’ll do anything to keep Phia safe, including quit the team. I just don’t want it to come to that given I receive a substantial athletic scholarship, and I have one more semester to go until graduation.
The guys crowd around me, and several others have joined us. Duffy shrugs casually. “Depends how serious you are about her.”
She and I had lunch again Tuesday at one of the campus dining halls.
Granted, I haven’t spent a great deal of time talking to most of the women I’ve spent time with, but I know I’ve never had a connection with any of them like I do with Phia.
It astounds me how easy it is to talk to her, about anything, with our clothes on.
It’s a novel idea. We’ve spoken every night on the phone, text throughout the day.
No sexting or phone sex, but I was joking when I suggested it.
Mostly. She isn’t someone you rush along; you take your time with her, savor her, revel in each and every little part of herself she shares with you.
Besides, for all her bluster and bravado, she’s quite shy when it comes to physical contact. Blushing whenever I hold her hand, nearly hyperventilating when I kiss her. When she’s ready, I just need to get her alone in person and out of her head…preferably with my tongue between her thick thighs.
“I’d choose her.” I finally answer. “Every time.” It’s new, but that doesn’t make it less true.
Doesn’t mean that every atom in my body isn’t in tune with her.
Doesn’t mean that every time I look into her eyes, or hear her soft sigh, or touch her smooth skin that I don’t see my every tomorrow laid out before me.
With her. Next to her. Behind her. On top of her… sorry, got sidetracked.
Hmm. I’m wondering if I should be more concerned about my obsession with her. Something to think about another time.
“Ain’t much you can do, dude. Be vigilant, record him, watch her.” I nod in understanding as Duffy lays it out.
“He means watch more than just her ass or tits.” On instinct, I throw my elbow back into Staunton’s stomach.
“Dude.” Gill shakes his head at him as he wheezes bent over. “Don’t talk about her…physical attributes, it makes Prib twitchy.”
Staunton raises a hand up, still struggling to catch his breath. “Noted.”
The alarm on my phone beeps. “Shit. I’m gonna be late for dinner.”
“Say hi to the missus for us!” The guys slap my back as I pass, my bag thrown over my shoulder, my shoes untied. I manage to flip them off on my way out.