Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
FWEET! I take off fast, the spikes on my feet sinking deep into the soft earth with each step. Sprinting ten yards up and to the right, I turn on quick feet at the perfect moment to see it flying towards me. I feel the leather slide between my fingers, suctioning into my gloves.
FWEET! This time up and to the left and then a quick one hundred eight degrees to the right around the opponent. Another fifteen yards northeast to the spot. He finds me once again. I catch the ball with such grace and precision just like I have every single play.
One more sound of the whistle snags me from my daydream. I grab a water bottle from the caddy and find a player who needs it, squeezing and squirting the water into his mouth until he gives me the signal to stop. These days all I'm good for is a glorified waterboy, taking up space on the sidelines as I stand with my hands on my hips watching practice unfold drill after drill. The most action I get is when the team doctor and athletic trainers join us and allow me to run up and down the end zones in between their stretches and rehab exercises.
Coach blows the whistle once more and the drills repeat all over again. I walk to the other side of the field wanting to see the play from a new angle. Even though I have no chance of seeing contact today, I let my mouthguard hang out of my mouth anyways. I have a bad habit of chewing on it while I wait, it's a way to occupy my mind. It drives my mom crazy, but honestly I don't even realize I do it most of the time.
The minutes pass slowly, but Coach blows the whistle one last time. Three quick blows in a row is his signal that offense and defense are finished for the morning. Meaning it's time to hit the showers and prepare to watch film. Being the crippled tight end that I am, I don't move. Instead I watch special teams make their way to the field. I like to stay and watch to know what the other positions are working on, to know how they fit into the game. I want to know how each scenario could play out.
I walk up into the metal bleachers of the practice field and plop down. Taking my t-shirt off I wipe the pool of sweat from my forehead. I'm used to the Texas heat and humidity, but Ohio is giving a damn good impression of the south today.
I do a panoramic search across the field to take it all in. Aside from the actual stadium, there is nothing quite like football training camp in the weeks leading up to the season. The entire training facility comes fully alive for the first time in months. All hours of the day you can walk into any room and find someone working through a play, working out, or simply letting it all sink in. The fact that their name is on a locker, that they have a Nike jersey specifically made for them that others will want to buy and wear too.
Even now with practices winding down, the orders given to take a break and shower, there are still at least twenty teammates hanging back just like me, needing to see it through.
I glance back towards the field that is now full with eleven men lined up in anticipation of the punt. Number one, our punter signals the play and punts it sixty yards right down the center. Not bad for someone coming off a year as a red shirt, I think.
Just as they reset to run the play again a group of students approach the field from the gates at the far end. Each one holding a university issued canvas bag and being led by some overly eager student in a red polo shirt and khaki shorts. Just another orientation group, the fifth one this week to interrupt practice. It's like they feel like we owe them the chance to see what we're up to as they tour the campus. I don't see why they have to tour the campus anyways. Classes start in a few weeks, you're either in or you're out at this point.
🏈🏈🏈
At half past six we pass the threshold to Bullies Tavern. A mixture of pizza and wings fill my nostrils as I make my way through. My roommates and I, four other guys from the team, have made our way here a few nights a week. This is the guaranteed final stop for any incoming freshman making their way around campus for orientation.
Bullies has the best food on campus and the building it's in also houses offices to register for classes. We occupy the back left corner table of the tavern. The seats are still in the same arrangement we made the night before.
One by one we plop down, making small talk with our eyes fixed on the entrance. The curiosity overpowering us to see what the incoming class brings to the campus. It's a sort of game guys from the team started playing last summer. Not that I started it, but was quickly reeled in when I too stepped foot onto campus as a freshman. My teammates and I are all the same in the fact that we seek out any chance to be challenged, to compete to prove something to ourselves or others. Aside from football, there isn't much else to fill our time until summer winds down and classes start.
We could just go out, hit the bars and we do after we leave here, but even the bars are starving for attention during their off season. The object of this game is to find something else, or someone else to occupy your night. Or at the very least, accompany you to the bar.
The factor that kicks it up another notch is how quickly you can make it happen. We take wagers every night. The last person to find a girl that night has to buy the first round at the bar. I've got it down to a science, I haven't lost yet. One of the freshmen with us is talking about my performance last night. Nine chuckles from beside me at how Michaels is fangirling over me.
"Michaels, like I told ya. You gotta start by finding your target," I say, pointing to the latest group to enter, mostly females. "Then you have to find a reason to bump into her. And I mean actually bump into her. Girls are all about the meet cute."
He is staring at me like I'm speaking a foreign language, so I decide to demonstrate, my sights set on a brunette with a green mini dress on. Standing up, I casually walk over to where she is. I pretend to be reaching for a napkin when I intentionally bump her tray of food, sending her order flying to the ground. I begin to apologize profusely, bending down to help clean up the mess. I flash her my best smile and take full responsibility for not paying attention to where I was going. She smiles back, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. I offer to buy her a replacement meal and then talk her into coming back to our table to sit with us. As soon as I sit down Michaels fist bumps me under the table.
He and the other's watch, balking at the way I have Cara's eyes lighting up. I too just sit back, only asking questions when I need to. I let girls do most of the talking, that's the way they like it anyways. Even if a guy is just pretending to listen, it's almost a guarantee that they let you in. Girls who claim to not like talking about themselves are lying, because all girls need reassurance. They need to tell people things about themselves that they like or hate, and they need other people to confirm their truths. That's one perk of growing up in a house of women. I know exactly how they function, could teach a fucking class on it. And it's that reason that I can get any girl I want at any time.
A little while later Cara's friends encourage her to leave to finish their tour of the campus, to see the makeshift lake lit up with barely there stars at night. I don't stop her, I don't need her that badly so I let her go. She asks for my number which is bold, I've got to give it to her. Still I decline. Instead I tell her that if she wants to see me, she can come out with us tonight. I tell her where and when to meet us, and send her on her way.
Michaels is the first to speak up, to begin to troll and tease me, that tonight is the night I lose the bet. But one of my roommates quickly tells him to shut up. Because they all know that Cara and her entire group of friends will be exactly where I told them to be, because they always do. It really pays off being able to charm a woman so much, that she doesn't even question. Instead, as soon as she walks away she will spend all of her time thinking about me until the next time she sees me, hours or days later.
