All Lined Up

This would have taken me hours by myself.

“Yep. I think you’ve pretty well got the hang of it.”

I look up from my computer to face her, and I notice that she’s closed the gap between us on the couch, leaving a scant few inches between her leg and mine.

“Thanks for this, Daredevil. You’re a lifesaver.”

She shakes her head.

“I’m no daredevil.”

“Any girl who can jump off balconies and hold her own in a fight with Coach Cole is a daredevil in my book.”

Her face falls, and I immediately regret bringing up that night.

“Like father, like daughter, I guess.”

“It’s not such a bad thing . . . being like your dad. Yeah, you’re both stubborn and proud. That’s for sure. But you’ve both got big hearts.”

She looks at me like an extra head has just sprouted from the socket of my shoulder.

“No one in my entire life has ever told me I have a big heart.”

I touch the hand she has braced on her knee, just for a few seconds, and say, “Then no one in your entire life has been paying much attention.”

THE NEXT MORNING Ryan approaches as soon as I enter the weight room. He doesn’t ask if I need a spot; this has become our routine since the first time he helped me.

He helps me load weights on the bar over at the bench press, and he wordlessly adds an extra ten pounds.

I might have mentioned Coach’s words about improving my arm in passing, and Ryan has unofficially taken on the role as my trainer.

I’m not as chatty today, not with an extra ten pounds to worry about, and not with my head still dissecting every moment I spent with Dallas last night. But Ryan picks up the slack.

“You’re later today than usual.”

I push out a breath as I lift the bar away from my chest.

“Up late,” I breathe.

“Something to do with the message you left?”

“Oh, that. I just had a question, but I worked it out.”

“Okay,” he says, but doesn’t comment further as I finish out my set. When I rack the bar and take a quick breather he adds, “I hope you’re coming during your lunch break today.”

I had been thinking of trying to catch Dallas after environmental science to thank her again for her help, but that will just take a few minutes.

“I’ll be here.”

“Good. Otherwise I would have two pissed-off receivers on my hands.”

I take the bar again, readjust my grip for a second, my hands burning slightly where some new calluses are forming. Then I start another set.

“What do you mean?”

“Torres and Brookes are meeting us at one. Thought we could spend some time throwing today. Work on that arm. It will give you a chance to get to know them, too. Build a rapport.”

Torres and Brookes? They’re both first string.

Ryan sees my expression. “They’re good guys. And they’re taking shit from Abrams about not being able to get open, so they’ve been hanging around, putting in some extra work. Seems stupid not to take advantage and let you guys work each other.”

“Yeah. It does. Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it. Now tell me what was so important that you broke your strict schedule for a late night.”

“Eh.” My hesitation turns into a groan as I struggle with my next to last rep. Ryan touches two fingers to the bottom of the bar, letting me know he’s there.

“One more.”

I take a few ragged breaths, and then I let my shaking arms lower toward my chest.

“Tell me this,” he says. “Was it more important than outplaying Abrams? Because that’s what all this is for, right? No one works this hard to ride the bench.”

Sweat runs in my eyes as I began to push up one last time. Ryan’s two fingers under the bar disappear and now both his hands grip the bar, pushing down just enough to add resistance.

I growl as I try to push past him.

“Was it more important?” he asks slowly, enunciating each word by letting me gain just a centimeter. My arms are shaking badly now, and the ache extends from my wrists to my shoulders.

I think about Dallas, and rather than answering, I grit my teeth and push up as hard as I can, dislodging Ryan and depositing the bar on the rack. I sit up, and my arm screams with the effort to even just lift up the hem of my shirt and wipe at the sweat on my face.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a bastard?” I say.

“Once or twice. Who is she?”

I stiffen and stand up, stretching my arms above my head. “What do you mean?”

“If it were anything else, you would have just said yes or no. When guys start having trouble giving straight answers, I find that it’s usually about a girl.”

“For your information, I was up doing homework.”

“Riiiight.” He raises his hands does those lame air-quote things. “Homework.”

I shake my head, pushing the sweaty hair off my forehead. “Doesn’t matter. We’re just friends.”

“I knew it!”

“Watch it, Blake. Don’t make me shove that dumbbell up your ass to keep your head company.”

“Fine. Fine. Go shower. Rest up so you don’t embarrass yourself in front of Torres and Brookes this afternoon. Then you can just concentrate on the friend zone . . . I mean end zone.”

I shove him, and he just laughs in response.

“Bastard.”

“Yeah, well. Let’s both get our heads out of our asses before this afternoon, hmm?”

Chapter 13

Dallas

I’m heading out when Stella comes home that evening.