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The boys' athletics locker room is never the most enlightening place to be. It reeks of sweat, testosterone, and the faint smell of ancient cleats. The noise level is deafening—lockers slamming, guys shouting over each other, and the constant half-hearted insults and annoying laughter.
Everyone's quick to judge, even faster to mock. You'd think after hours of sprinting or chasing a ball, these guys would be a bit more humble. But no, humility isn't part of the equation here.
Despite all the noise and boldness, I have to admit these guys are talented. They've earned their spots on the team through sheer determination. Especially certain people...
I find myself zoning out, my gaze fixed across the room. Vinnie is changing, his movements easy and relaxed. His longish brown hair is tied up in a half-ponytail, keeping it off his face.
I like it when he wears it like that. It makes his girlfriend, Bea Taylor, and every other girl at school, swoon. And honestly, it's a good look at him.
As I watch him, I wish our lockers were closer together. The guys here are loud and aggressive, always looking for a way to one-up each other. I'm still lost in thought when one of them shoves me, knocking me slightly off balance. Three years on the varsity football team have given me some give, though.
"How's the view lookin'?" one of the sophomore boys calls, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh yeah? That's what I was going to say when I lay you flat on the field at scrimmage tomorrow," I shoot back, my tone half-joking but with a hint of warning.
It's the best I can do to cover the embarrassment. I'm not sure why it bothers me. Most guys appreciate it when another guy looks particularly impressive.
It's nothing but a compliment that I've noticed how well-defined Vinnie's muscles have gotten or how the sun has given his skin a perfect tan. No wonder he has a girlfriend.
"Come on, Wes, you know I'm just messing around," the boy says, trying to play it off. I give him an annoyed look, and he backs off.
Sophomores are always afraid of the upperclassmen, especially their football team captain.
I glance back at Vinnie, who's now wearing his red and navy letterman jacket and a pair of jeans. He moves quickly and quietly, trying to leave as soon as possible. He's already heading out of the locker room, leaving me standing and staring.
I look at my reflection in the mirror inside my locker door, making sure my dirty blonde hair looks acceptable. Satisfied, I grab my bag and hurry to catch up with my best friend.
"Hey, Vin, wait up!" I call out.
He turns his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he waits for me. Falling into step beside him, the chaoticness of the locker room fades away, now with the comfortable silence that always surrounds us.
We walk out of the building into the cool evening air, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun sets. The school is quieter now, and the day winding down.
The chatter of other students fades as we make our way to the parking lot. Vinnie's truck is parked in its usual spot, a beat-up old thing he loves despite its horribly loud engine.
"Need a ride home?" Vinnie asks, tossing his bag into the backseat.
"Nah, I'm good. I thought we could hang out for a bit," I replied casually.
"Sure thing," he says with a grin, and we both climb into the truck. The familiar rumble of the engine brings a sense of comfort.
We drive in silence for a while, the town passing by in a blur of lights and shadows. Eventually, we ended up at the local Dairy Queen, our favorite hangout.
We slide into our usual booth, and the waitress, who knows us well, brings over a cotton candy milkshake for me and a plain vanilla for Vinnie without even asking for our order.
"So practice was shit," Vinnie says, the milkshake in one hand while leaning against the booth with the other.
"Yeah, it kinda was," I reply, sipping my overly sweet billion-calorie shake. "But we're gonna pull through."
"Not if you get diabetes from that monstrosity of a shake, captain," he says, smirking as he puts his hands on the table.
"It's bulking season, you just don't understand because you're literally a stick," I smoothly reply, grinning at him.
"Hey, I'm 6 '1, I'm fine." He rolls his eyes.
As the evening wears on, the cramped fast-food restaurant starts to empty out, and we linger over our shakes, not quite ready to go home. Something is comforting about these moments, even though we're just teasing each other the whole time.
Finally, we head back to the truck, the night air cool against our skin. Vinnie drives me home, and as we pull up to my house, I feel a pang of reluctance.
"Thanks for the ride," I say, hesitating for a moment before getting out.
"Anytime," he replies with a smile. "See you tomorrow, Wes."
"Yeah, see you tomorrow," I echo, watching as he drives away. .
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first chapter of our first story! we hope you like it and continue reading!
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