Just the thought of her has me smiling as I make my way to the tape room. Something my best—and favorite—wide receiver notices right away.
“I know that smile,” Shawn says, nodding to the chair next to his.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask as I take a seat.
“Hell, yeah. That’s your ‘thinking about a sexy woman’ smile.” He raises his brows at Tanner, my left tackle and best friend, who’s currently sitting across from me. “Isn’t it, man?”
“Damn straight,” Tanner agrees, popping the top on his container of freshly squeezed orange juice. “Spill.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell them loftily. “The smile you’re bagging on is my ‘I’m so thrilled to spend the morning watching tape’ smile. I can’t believe you don’t recognize it.”
Tanner snickers. “Yeah, cuz watching tape totally makes me smile like I just got laid.”
“Me, too,” Shawn agrees.
“You don’t get a vote,” Tanner quickly tells him. “Watching tape really does make you smile like that.”
“It’d make you smile, too, if you caught as many balls as I do in a game. Oh, right, you don’t get to catch, do you? You just get to stand there and be a meat shield.”
“It’s a pretty fucking important job. Because if I wasn’t there, I guarantee there’d be no balls for you to catch. So you should probably just say thank you—”
“I’ll say thank you,” I interject, because I know just how long this one-upmanship game can go on if unchecked. “Considering it’s my ass you’re saving every week.”
“See, now that’s gratitude for you,” Tanner says with a sneer at Shawn.
“All right, all right,” Coach says as he walks in the room, arms filled with binders. “I want to look at what happened last week, when we let them sack our quarterback. Twice.”
Shawn cackles. “Great job, Tanner.”
Tanner flips him off, but there’s no heat behind it. The two of them have been fucking with each other for years—it’s some messed-up kind of bonding ritual, and we all know enough to just let it roll off our backs.
Especially since, when they’re on the field, they work together like clockwork—a big part of what makes our offense the current best in the NFL—despite the fact that I had my ass handed to me twice last game.
Two hours later, we’re changing in the locker room—getting ready to take the field—and Tanner starts up on me again. “So, what’s she like?”
Deciding to throw him a bone since I have better things to do than get hounded about a woman by my best friend all day, I say, “She’s all smart mouth and gorgeous curves.”
He whistles. “Nice. What’s her name?”
“Her name’s none-of-your-business.” I bend down to lace up my shoes.
“Nice name. To the point.”
“Fuck off, man.”
“Is that any way to treat the guy who’s gonna keep your ass from getting flattened out there?”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks, isn’t it? Whether I’m nice to you or not?”
He laughs, as I knew he would.
Then goes out on the field and—despite his ridiculous threat—does his best to destroy anyone who even looks like they’re coming for me while the defense runs patterns the opposing team is known for. I throw three passes straight into the end zone, one from nearly sixty-five yards back. In between, Shawn and Mateo—the other first-string wide receiver—run more than a few balls straight up the backfield to the end zone.
Fourth time it happens, even Coach whoops it up on the sidelines and I’ve got to admit, it’s a nice job if you can get it. Even when it’s hot as fuck out and my helmet and pads only make it hotter.
We’re all sweating like hell when we get back to the locker room and I can’t get into the shower fast enough. It’s October, for God’s sake. Shouldn’t it be cooling down out there soon?
“Hey, man, want to get some lunch after this?” Tanner asks a few minutes later, when I’m back at my locker, changing into street clothes. “There’s this new bistro I want to check out down in Mission Valley.”