Don't Tell (Don't 1)

I’d spent my life playing Texas football. It was in my heart. In my blood. But this wasn’t my city. The Warriors were our biggest rivals. The fact that we were in constant competition to be crowned the state’s home team was always lingering between us.

But this time we were showing up as national champions, and they could shit talk all they wanted. They didn’t have the title we did.

The captain called over the speaker, “We are approaching Austin. Please prepare for landing.”

I exhaled. I was ready. Ready to get this game over with and take home another win.

As soon as we were on the ground and could unfasten our seatbelts, I stood up to an awkward bent position. None of us could stand in this jet. Wes, the team’s quarterback, was the first to take the steps to the tarmac.

I could hear the press outside the plane hitting him with questions. They loved that guy. He was a champion. He had led the team all the way to San Diego last year. He had earned his place.

One by one, we disembarked. The flight attendant tugged my arm before it was my turn. I looked at her as she tucked a folded piece of paper in my suit jacket.

“I’ve got a twenty-four hour layover,” she whispered.

“Thanks.” I grinned before ducking out of the jet.

“Call me, Sam.”

I ran my hands through my dark hair and shook my head.

I wasn’t going to pretend I couldn’t get any woman I wanted. I knew how they looked at me. How they licked their lips when I walked by. I worked hard for this body. I spent endless hours in the gym lifting weights and working with my cross-fit trainers. It didn’t happen overnight, but I looked like a god when I took the field. There were painful weeks and months of sweat and hard work that went into creating the physical machine I had become. I didn’t care if I was eye-candy to them—the season started tomorrow and they were background noise.

I’d throw her number away as soon as I found a trashcan. No distractions. No women. Tomorrow night the spotlight was on all of us, and I had to show the world Sam Hickson was more than a lucky first-year rookie. I was as much a champion as Wes Blakefield. I had a career ahead of me that would blow all the numbers out of the fucking world.

I smiled at the cameras and walked past Wes. He was still answering questions. There was a bus waiting to take us the hotel. I hopped up the stairs, feeling the coldness of the air conditioning rush over my head. The season opener was all that mattered now.

There were two different playbooks. I stretched my legs on the hotel bed and picked up the one designed for Warriors games. We had our own set of rules when we faced them. I had been over it at least twenty times before tonight, but I wanted to review the plays again.

“Sam, you in there?”

I sat up when I heard Stubbs’ loud voice and his fist pounding on my door. I walked over and opened it.

“Hey, man. What’s going on?”

“We’re going out,” he announced.

“Out?”

He grinned. “Hell, yeah. We need to blow off some steam. You’re coming with us.”

I shook my head. “I’m studying.”

“You sure you’re not still a fucking rookie?”

I glared at him. “Maybe I’m the only one who wants to win tomorrow night.”

He laughed in my face. “No, you’re the only fucker who thinks studying will make a difference. We’ve got this game. So come on. We’re going out.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Do you know where we are?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. It was rhetorical, so I waited for him to answer for me.

“We’re in fucking Austin. Where the Warriors live. Where they eat. Where they drink. Where people think they aren’t the biggest dicks on the planet.”

“What’s your point, Stubbs?”