“Look who finally convinced his girl to come to practice,” Dax says, craning his neck to look at the stands. “First time this season, right? Damn, Evans. I'd be distracted too if she looked at me like that.”
I shoot him a warning glare. “Eyes on the playbook, not my girl. She has no interest in you, I promise.”
“If we could focus on football for five minutes,” Mason cuts in, pushing Sebi off him, “that would be great. We've got scouts coming next week, in case anyone forgot.”
“Relax, Mason,” Sebi says, slapping him on the back. “It’s just a game, remember? It’s supposed to be fun.”
Mason shrugs him off. “Games with million-dollar contracts on the line. Not all of us can rely on NIL deals to keep us afloat until we have the chance to get drafted.”
“Always the life of the party,” Dax mutters.
I clap my hands, bringing everyone's attention back to me. “All right, enough. Mason's right—we need to focus. Let's run thesplit formation. Reese and Dax wide, Sebi in the slot. Mason, you're blocking. On my count.”
As we break the huddle, I can’t help but glance back at Honey. She’s high up in the bleachers, an entire section away from the cheerleaders and groupies who come to watch our practice, but all of their eyes are on her.
Why wouldn’t they be?
Honey’s exceptional, and she doesn’t even have to try to be the center of attention. It just happens around her.
I push away the fatigue, wanting to impress my girl.
“Set!” I call out, scanning the defense. “Red 42! Red 42! Hut!”
The ball slaps into my hands, and the world narrows to the field, the players, the patterns we've drilled a thousand times. I drop back, scanning for an opening, and find Dax breaking free down the sideline.
I launch the ball in a perfect spiral that he catches in his stride. He sprints the remaining twenty yards to the end zone before raising the ball triumphantly above his head.
“That's how it's done!” he shouts, spiking the ball with enough force to make it bounce higher than his head.
“Nice throw,” Reese says quietly as we jog back to position.
“Nice blocking,” I tell Mason, who gives me a curt nod in response.
We run the play again, and again, until Coach is satisfied we've got it down. By the time he blows the whistle ending practice, my shoulder is throbbing and sweat's pouring down my face, but I feel good. Ready. We're going to destroy Covey U next weekend.
“Hit the showers!” Coach calls out. “Rest up. I want everyone fresh for tomorrow's film session.”
As the team heads to the locker room, I linger behind, waiting for Honey to make her way down the stands. Pulling off my helmet, I run a hand through my sweat-drenched hair, hoping I look presentable.
“Ooh. Honey’s coming over,” Sebi announces, elbowing me as he walks past. Sadly, he doesn’t keep going. He stands right beside me. “Quick, how’s my hair?” he asks Reese and Dax, who also stop.
“Tragic, as always,” Dax answers.
Sebi lets out a disgruntled groan. “Someone a little jealous that I got more attention from our QB today than you?” he counters, flicking his sweat-soaked curls in Dax’s direction.
Dax scoffs, dodging the sprinkles of water like a pro. “In what universe?”
“The one where—”
“Guys,” I interrupt, “can you not be idiots for five minutes? My girl is coming over.”
“That's a big ask for them,” Mason joins in, his equipment bag already slung over his shoulder. Of course he was the first in the shower and already ready to leave. He’s probably going home to eat some microchip boards for dinner.
Sebi clutches his chest. “I'm wounded. Truly.”
When Honey reaches us, she offers a small smile, but I can tell by the way she’s clutching the hem of my jersey that she’s a little nervous.
“Hey,” she says, her eyes moving from me to my teammates and back again.