Into the Stars (USC Series Book #2)

chapter nine

INTO THE STARS
———
MALACHI

"I am gonna fucking miss you guys!" Camron announces to Holden, Tyson, and Aidan.

I think he may be talking to me as well, but I ignore him, carrying on with taking off my shin pads and cleats. Dismissing him is easy, but it is obvious everyone else is a tad bit confused. As I would be if I were paying any attention to them.

"You are junior, just like us, dude," Aidan reminds him. "We aren't going anywhere. Not until next year, at least."

"I know!" Camron whines.

"Are you high? Or on something, at the very least?" Holden asks, narrowing his eyes in a confused manner.

"Are you dying?" Tyson questions.

Camron feigns a sniffle as though he is crying, wiping underneath his eyes, ridding any "tears" off his face. "No..."

Silence fills the air as everybody awaits his explanation. He doesn't.

"Care to fucking elaborate?" Tyson presses, staring at him with a perplexed look.

In the blink of an eye, Camron's entire composure changes from slouching and feigning sadness to chipper as though nothing in the past minute happened. "Nope, I am fine. Just wanted to see what you would say. But stay hush-hush about it. I wanna try it on the other guys."

"Complete idiot," Aidan groans beneath his breath.

"Hey, guys!" Tyson announces. "Camron is dy-"

Before Tyson can finish his sentence, Camron runs around the bench, slapping his hand over Tyson's mouth. Tyson squirms, trying to get out of his grip, his voice muffled as he still tries to speak.

Camron's face scrunches up in disgust as he wrenches his hand away as fast as the speed of light. He wipes it on his sweaty shirt, pinning Tyson with a grimace. "Look, I know I have nice hands—the ladies love 'em—but that doesn't mean you can lick them, on your own free will. No offense, but you are not my type."

Tyson claps his hands in front of him with an overly cheerful smile. "Glad we established our types because you aren't mine either! I prefer innocent blondes with big hazel—"

"Dude, shut up! No one asked about your type in girls," Holden interrupts Tyson's rambling.

"Time to hit the showers!" Coach yells, entering the locker room after today's training session. "I might just die if I spend thirty more seconds in here. The stench is that bad."

Coach walks out and most of the team walks into the showers.

I am desperate to feel the scalding hot water against my skin. There is something so soothing about water so hot it causes you pain.

Probably because it is a reminder that I still feel pain.

My muscles are sore and each step feels like a struggle, but I think this is the reason Coach plans training sessions like these during the off-season. It keeps up the physique expected during the season, so when the time comes, we don't completely suck on the field.

This is the first of many, which is why I am sorer than expected. And it doesn't help that Coach knew what little everybody has been doing to stay on schedule, so he worked us ten times harder than usual. He does that often, to be completely honest. Maybe that is the new normal now.

Thankfully, the facilities at USC are top-notch compared to some others that I have seen. Each person in our team has their own cubicle, separated by a wall that reaches about my waist. It isn't tall enough to not see your teammates next to you, but it is enough to not see their dicks while they are showering.