I shrug and begin the long jog back to the line. This guy had really fallen for my trap.
“Okay, all right,” he says, keeping pace alongside me. “I see you.”
Aleks is standing near our teammates about to huddle up, his hands pressed to either side of his red helmet as he listens to our coach. After a moment, he joins us and calls another run play. No tricks this time. My job consists of blocking so Aleks can run the ball as far as possible—hopefully for another first down.
He does, and we start our march down the field. Coach rotates some of the tight ends onto the line, the strong, big guys with giant hands who make solid catches for us. Once we get to the red zone, I’m pulled to the sideline in favor of a full house consisting of three tight ends and two running backs.
Ten seconds later, we have our first touchdown of the game, and in the first three minutes to boot.
I celebrate with my teammates on the sideline but subtly back up when the guys from the field join us as the kicking team heads out. Lots of ass slaps are passed around, and then even more once our kicker makes the field goal. Gallon goes as far as to lift the smaller guy high into the air by his armpits.
Despite all the practice I have been getting with Tahegin, I find myself grateful not to be in the center of the celebrating mass of guys. I feel claustrophobic just watching.
The Dragons eventually return our touchdown—though our defense gives them hell the whole time. Tahegin almost got a pick on their second-to-last play before the goal.
I’m still standing off to the side when someone approaches me. His visor is tinted, but I don’t need to see anything other than his bright smile to know who he is. He holds his gloved hands out between us.
“I could feel it,” Tahegin gushes. “Ugh, the ball was right here. In my hands. I was so close!”
“That was an awesome run, T.” The praise feels unnatural coming from my mouth, but the way he lights up in response pushes the thought far back in my mind.
Tahegin grasps my hands in his, squeezing firmly. “Feel that? The ball was on my gloves, Rix. I can’t believe I missed it. Better luck next time, huh?”
Before I can really process what I’m doing, I’ve yanked my hand out of his, our sticky gloves trying to hold on a little longer. Panic washes over me, the day suddenly feeling too hot, and I frantically look around to make sure nobody is paying attention to us. Our teammates and friends are distracted by the game. It seems the cameras are distracted, too. It’s only when I turn and see Tahegin’s fallen face that I realize my actions were extremely rude. He looks genuinely hurt, even if I can only see his slightly parted lips before the visor covers the rest of his expression. I can feel it, though. Feel his shock and disappointment.
And for what? There aren’t any rules here—no foster parents ready to discipline with a belt for disobeying. Tahegin didn’t do anything we haven’t already done—and more—in the privacy of a bedroom. Is it the publicity of being in a full stadium that has me spooked?
We’re friends, for God’s sake. Our other teammates are literally slapping each other’s asses on live television. Why did I freak out on him?
Tahegin rolls his lips between his teeth and curls his fingers into his palms. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I thought—” Breaking off, he stares at me as if trying to find the words he wants to say.
Mine are just as elusive. I want to tell him it’s okay—isn’t it? Or that he didn’t overstep . . . I think. Or—
“Avery! Ass on the field! Now!”
Obeying Coach is instinctive, and my brain gladly focuses on following orders instead of the tense situation I’ve created between Tahegin and me. I dart for the green without another word, for once actually hating my less-than-chatty personality. Just this once, I wish I was a people-person, if only so that I can give Tahegin reassurance that everything is okay.
I put my head down and focus on the rest of the game. We win, but I leave the stadium feeling as if I’ve lost.
CHAPTER 12
TAHEGIN ELLINGSWORTH
Aleks bumps my shoulder as we step off the charter buses at our practice facility. “Are you coming out with us tonight, Gin?”
Without permission, my eyes seek out Hendrix. I didn’t have a chance to speak with him after the game—interviews ran late, and Coach was ready to load up by the time Aleks and I made it to the locker room at the Dragons’ stadium. We hit the road running, and since our buses were separated by offense, defense, and special teams, I haven’t been able to talk to Hendrix after I overstepped during the game by holding his hands. And, of course, I still haven’t nutted up enough to ask for his phone number. The naive side of me kept thinking he’d volunteer the information at some point.
“Come on,” Aleks eggs on after mistaking my silence for a negative. I do want to go out, but I want to set things straight with Hendrix first. “We’re gonna party and dance and drink. And hook up,” he adds with a smirk and a wink.
I walk slowly to my car, still checking the dispersing crowd of our teammates for Hendrix. “Uh, yeah,” I agree, albeit distractedly. “Where?”
“Gemini. I haven’t been, but I’ve heard good things. Meet there in an hour?”
“In LA traffic?” I snort incredulously. “Better make it two.” Closing time won’t be a problem either, seeing as the sun hasn’t even set yet. Perks of an early game.
Aleks slaps my ass unexpectedly, but the move happens so often in football that I’m not thrown off in the slightest. “It’s a date.” He whoops and darts toward Kit, who is walking alongside Tank toward their cars in the parking lot. “Baby! You wanna come out with us tonight?” His voice fades out as they get further away, and I’m surprisingly thankful to be alone for once. It gives me a chance to look for— There.
Tossing my luggage in the bed of my truck, I make my way across the parking lot to where Hendrix is climbing into an older-model Civic. For a second, I worry he’ll drive off before I can reach him, but then his engine sputters, refusing to turn over. I cross the few yards left and knock on his driver’s-side window.
The shuddering engine quiets. I shove my hands in my pockets, waiting as Hendrix’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. He fists one hand on his thigh and opens his door with the other. It almost hits me, but I stand my ground. He stops it before it can tap my knees.
Hendrix doesn’t look at me. His nearly blond, messy hair hangs over his downcast eyes—he’s been saying he needs to get it trimmed. I always tell him it’s fine because I secretly enjoy the times I get to run my fingers through it, though now I wish he had cut it so I can see more of his face. “I don’t need help,” he growls at the ground.
I rock on the balls of my feet. “Good thing I’m not here to offer help. I know absolute shit about cars . . .” I hold up a finger and tap my nose, adding a teasing “Ah, except that you probably—no, definitely—need a new one.”
“Yeah,” he huffs. “I just . . .”
By now, I can recognize the hesitance in his voice. Toeing his door closed, I cross around the front of his car to the passenger side. My intention is to climb into the seat beside him, but when I tug on the handle, I find it locked. I rap on the window, leaning down and peeking in with a grin. Hendrix looks at me, and I point at the protruding lock on the inside door panel. I even give the glass a little tap for emphasis.
Alone in the car, he sighs to himself, then finally stretches across the console to unlock the passenger door.
I open it and collapse into the passenger seat. Once we’re closed inside the car and secluded from our lingering teammates, I turn to face him. “What’s up, Rix?”
It takes a minute for him to gather the words, and I’m only half-surprised at what he says. “I . . . I don’t know the first thing about buying a car. I have some money set aside—more coming in every game week—but that doesn’t mean I know what to do with it. How do I buy a couch? How do I get it to my apartment and up the stairs? Before that first football game in September, the biggest paycheck I ever got at one time was six hundred dollars. I don’t know what to buy first or how to do it.”
My brow quirks. “You need a new couch?”
“I need a couch,” he admits. “I’m using a fucking lawn chair right now.”
