“Damn, Sheppard, even hungover like a motherfucker you played like a beast.” Harley, one of the linebackers and a mean asshole on the field, slapped Alex on the back and made his way with the other players to the locker room.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Alex stopped in front of Coach Marx and breathed out roughly, trying to calm his respiration from the grueling exercises their coach dealt them.
“You came to practice hungover again.” It wasn’t a question. Coach didn’t want any of the players to drink, because he said it polluted their bodies and made them sluggish on the field the next day.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Alex didn’t offer any more of an explanation. He respected the hell out of Coach Marx, but even nauseous like a bitch after drinking all night he kicked ass on the field. “I mean, we still played good today. Real good.” It hadn’t just been Alex that was hungover. There had been a handful of other players that had dragged their sorry asses out of bed and ruled the field during practice.
Coach ran his hand over his buzzed salt and pepper hair. Alex knew something was wrong at the hesitant look on Coach’s eyes. “Listen,” he said on an exhale. “I’ve seen that you’re slacking in your studies, too, and have fallen under the grade point average that is required for you to play on the team.”
Everything in Alex froze. Sure, there had been a few of his classes that he’d fallen behind, but he certainly didn’t think it had anything to do with his partying. He’d never been the best at school, not even when he’d attended the prestigious Black Mountain Academy. And seeing as this was his fourth and final year at BMU before he would graduate with a bachelor’s degree in Sports Therapy, he had only been thinking about exactly that: this was his final year.
Fuck. Had he not tried hard enough that he was now at risk of getting kicked off of the team? “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Coach said. “That about sums it up. Listen, this is totally out of my hands. You know the rules the university requires for all players, and the fact you need to keep your grade point average at an optimal level in order to stay on the team.” Coach started pacing in front of him. “Alex, I have to put you on probation until you bring your average up, and that guts me because you and I both know what you bring to this team. You’re one of the best fucking players, and without you we wouldn’t have gotten as far as we have. But--”
“It’s out of your hands,” Alex finished Coach’s words.
“Yeah, son. Sorry.”
Football was his life. He’d played it all through his BMA days, and when he’d gotten on the team for BMU it had been a fucking dream, everything he’d worked for and toward.
“Alex, this isn’t anyone’s doing but your own. You know how strict the university is about this, and it pains me to have to suspend you, but my hands are tied on this. All I can say is get your average up at midterms, and then when that happens, I’ll throw you back in the games. Go talk to the academic advisor and see what you need to do, and maybe get someone to tutor your ass.” Coach clapped him on the back and walked away, cutting off any further conversation.
Well, fucking shit.
If a tutor was what he needed... then he’d sure as fuck make sure to get the most gorgeous one available.
Things looked shitty for sure, but hell, if having Mary tutor him wasn’t the silver lining, then what the fuck was?
4
“What time are you coming in?”
Mary held her cell phone between her shoulder and ear as she adjusted her bag. She kept her exasperated sigh to herself at hearing Margo’s words.
“Margo, the event is like a month away.” Her sister didn’t bother hiding her frustrated sigh, and Mary gritted her teeth so she didn’t say something she’d regret. Or maybe she wouldn’t regret it. She’d mean every word, but then she’d deal with the tantrum Margo threw her way because of it, and that was just more drama Mary didn’t want to deal with.
“Listen, I’m trying to plan when the bridesmaids are coming so I can set up appointments, and I need you to tell me.” It wasn’t phrased politely. Of course. It was all demands and frustrations because Margo wasn’t getting her way fast enough. “It isn’t like you have anything else to do that weekend, or any weekend for that matter,” she mumbled under her breath. But before Mary could correct Margo, hell, snap at her for being such a bitch, she was speaking again. “Mom’s planning a pre-wedding dinner on Friday night, so I know you’ll be there, but are you coming up any earlier?”