Page 4 of Man to Man Coverage (Rangers Football: Hard-Hitting #6)
Rex
I t’s been a few weeks since that game in Nashville, and I haven’t had one reason to talk to Devlin outside of a friendly head nod while we’re passing each other on the practice field or in the locker room.
Things between Jepson and Jaxson have been weird lately—both of them are walking on eggshells, and I don’t know why.
Jaxson’s been making himself scarce, and Jepson’s been calling on me more to hang out.
Although there are very few hours in the day when we are not training, it’s still enough time to get in trouble and yet, Jepson seems to be avoiding it versus running head first, as usual.
The team is three and zero, and we played a fantastic game at home against Dallas. Emotions are high, and the energy is electric as we file into the locker room.
“We are partying tonight!” I say a little louder than I mean to.
A series of hoots and hollers meets my statement, so maybe deep down I meant to say it loud enough that Devlin would hear.
I catch his eye across the locker room for half a second before he nudges Aggie and says something I can’t hear over the growing baritone cacophony of hyped-up and invigorated men.
“Strip club!” Jepson bellows.
“You got us kicked out of the last strip club, remember?” I elbow him playfully.
“That was in Nashville. We have a dozen other cities to be kicked out of this year. Besides, the ladies at Diamonds and Pearls love me.” He flashes me that schoolboy grin he works so well and then smacks Jaxson on the shoulder. “What do you think? Want to head up to Denver tonight?”
“I don’t know, Jeps. I’m not feeling it tonight, you know?” Jaxson says.
“Why? We just played a phenomenal game. Don’t you want to celebrate?” Jepson argues.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I feel the need to be the center of attention, specifically Devlin’s attention, even if only for a minute.
“Yeah! Celebrate good times, come on ,” Wearing a towel, I sing Kool and the Gang’s famous song while swinging my arms and ass before I hip-check Jaxson into his locker.
“Watch it, stupid ass,” Jaxson shoves me back, his smile giving away his good humor. I glance over my shoulder, but Devlin isn’t at his locker and that little display was for nothing.
I’m such a dork sometimes.
Greg McMillen, the offensive coordinator, makes his voice boom over the dull roar permeating the locker room. “No one leaves until the coach and the GM talk to you. Rex, do you hear me?”
“Yeah, Coach,” I grumble, feeling completely stupid. His attention was not the one I desired. Dammit.
“I wonder what’s going on?” Jepson says under his breath and nods in Aggie’s direction, who is now sitting in front of his locker, pulling on his clothes like a condemned man with Devlin once again at his side.
Jaxson shakes his head. “Can’t be good.”
While we did well today, I didn’t play much.
Two kick returns totaling forty-three yards.
Since I didn’t work up a sweat and I’d rather shower at home, I change into my workout clothes while Jepson showers and we wait for management to show up.
We don’t have to wait long before Mike Monroe and Daniel Scott walk in, followed by Deacon and Declan Scott—the whole fam-damily minus their sister, Deidre, who most of us have never met in person.
My lowly third-string self certainly hasn’t met her.
Declan, our star quarterback, takes residence center stage, halfway between his family and his team, with his arms crossed over his chest, his feet spread in a wide stance.
“Listen up,” Deacon Scott’s voice booms, shutting everyone up.
His father and our GM, Daniel, steps forward and speaks.
“You played a great game today and I don’t want to diminish this win, but it’s early in the season and we still have a long way to go.
Unfortunately, there are antics by members of this team overshadowing what should be our championship season.
I see no reason to point out anyone specific as we are a team.
We win as a team, and we lose as a team.
One person’s negative actions are the team’s bad press. ”
Even though I do as little as possible to be noticed—I mean, I’m thankful to be playing professional ball at all and only hope I get opportunities to prove I belong here, so the last thing I want to do is cause negative light to shine on me—I feel like every person here wants to look in my direction.
I mean, I know at least one or two of the jabs land in Jepson’s basket.
The GM continues. “Club brawls, DUIs, personal dramas—these take away focus from what matters this season. Record-breaking stats and team cohesion. Since partying and reckless activities seem to be just as important to some of you as winning, I’m imposing a curfew on the team, as well as a gag order with the press, effective immediately.
The only sanctioned interviews from members of this team will be coordinated by the President of Communications, Ms. Deidre Scott. Am I understood?”
A murmur of yeses filters through the assembled men.
Mike Monroe steps up. “Until I say otherwise, practice, travel and games will be from seven am to seven pm, Wednesday through Monday. Curfew is on your honor at eight pm. Fuck around and I find out, and we’ll be discussing your future with the team.
Next Wednesday, we will start in the briefing room, where I will discuss a couple of roster changes for the upcoming weeks.
Your coaches are going to be pushing you hard to wring the absolute best out of each of you.
If all goes well, you’ll be too fucking tired for shenanigans. ”
I take a deep breath, trying not to feel scolded, even though I’m pretty sure I have nothing to feel guilty about.
Coach Monroe glances around the room. “Great game today. Be proud of yourselves, but be prepared for a few brutal weeks as we gear up for our toughest matchup this season against Seattle in week eight. Dismissed.”
The locker room is silent until the coaches, the GM and both of the Scotts leave, and only then are there low rumbles of dissent amongst the players.
Jepson slides his wallet and keys into his pocket, making eye contact with no one.
He grumbles loud enough for only me and Jaxson to hear. “Pizza and Xbox tonight?”
I nod and follow the twins out of the locker room as quickly as possible. Right before I leave, I glance over my shoulder in Devlin’s direction to find his eyes on me.
Is that a look of curiosity or condemnation?
Am I guilty by association in Devlin’s mind?
I know Jepson and Jaxson are great guys.
Yeah, they’ve got some childhood traumas to work through—things they don’t talk about to anyone including me—but otherwise, they are good guys with quirks that might make them unattractive to an outside observer.
Jepson comes off like an arrogant asshole—which equally repels as well as attracts the ladies—while Jaxson is a scarred and tattooed introverted recluse.
I guess I’m the third wheel.
The bland vanilla center in an otherwise weird and wild cookie sandwich.
Maybe I should get myself a hobby—one away from the team for my off time.
I used to love role-playing games and although it’s been years since I’ve logged onto a server, I’m still a member of an online guild.
Instead of playing first-person shooter games with Jepson on Xbox all night, like I have since joining the Rangers, maybe I should go to one of the local game shops and see what’s new in the fantasy realm of orcs, druids, and blood elves.
Maybe I should take in my guitar and get it restrung?
Maybe I should think about dating again?
No. No more online dating bullshit. The truth is, I’m not really into it. I’ve met a handful of women and gone on a couple of dates with each, but nothing ever clicks for me.
Not sure if it’s a woman I’m looking for, either.
Honestly, I don’t know what I want or what’s wrong with me.
I can look at a person and understand what’s conventionally attractive about them.
Hair, eyes, shape, smile, personality, sense of humor, fashion sense…
the list goes on, but I rarely find myself attracted to a person I haven’t formed a bond with.
In high school, I was the only kid who wasn’t completely focused on getting laid.
Most of the time it didn’t occur to me, and during my senior year, a few of the guys on the team asked me why.
Why don’t you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend?
They didn’t care if I was gay; they just wanted to know why I wasn’t obsessed about getting my dick sucked like they were.
Then I went to college where it was more of the same. My roommate, Tim, was a very sexual guy who was into trying everything three times. His motto was simple: Try it once to see if you like it. Twice, to make sure the first time wasn’t a fluke. And a third time, to be extra sure.
Tim was the life of the party, whether there was a party going on or not.
He was openly bisexual and so unbelievably comfortable with who he was that he attracted all kinds of people to dance within his sphere of influence.
Although he was a little wild for me, he was a great roommate who invited me to tag along wherever he went.
My freshman year I could lie low between football and school, going to the occasional party so I didn’t seem like a complete outcast, but my sophomore year, Tim met someone who matched his energy perfectly, and she was super focused on playing with me.
Dalia was Tim in female form. Wild and up for anything, my virginity was her catnip and her number one obsession.
I liked her and Tim well enough, and I knew they were attractive by societal standards.
After hearing them go at it a couple of times in the room we shared, I gave in and experimented with both of them.