Biker's Virgin

Chapter Nineteen

Roman

I was up even earlier than usual Monday morning. It was still dark out and I didn't have to be awake, but I couldn't sleep. It had been this way the last three years... Well, the two years before this last one. The start of summer semester.

As a player, it had never been an option for me to skip it. Summer was pool parties and trips overseas for a lot of students, but for us, it was summer training. Obviously, with that, we had had to take classes, too.

If you had been slacking off, summer was the best time to try raise your GPA since it wasn't as busy as the normal semesters. I wasn't a student anymore, but summer training sounded pretty good to me right then. It didn't matter how good I knew I was. If you didn't practice a skill, you lost it, it was simple as that.

The training in the army had kept me pretty conditioned, but I knew I needed to get actual play time, get my head in the game again. I was excited. I was ready to get started – I needed a life again. Ron was back in my arms, almost a sure thing; all I needed now was a way into the league.

Coach Fitz had set the meeting for noon. I was knocking at his door with a couple minutes to spare. He barked at me to come in.

What was the deal with coaches? Why were they always overweight? Why didn't any of them actually look like the athletes they were supposed to train? I wasn't going to say I could do the job, but it just made sense in my head. You didn't go to a doctor who smoked, why would you let a guy who looked like he'd never ran a suicide in his life coach sports?

I didn't know. It added up somehow, and I guess that was the only thing that mattered. Coach Fitz had reportedly played back in the day and injury took him out. He wasn't built like an athlete anymore, but it was clear that the guy knew his stuff. The team had always done great under him.

He looked at me as I took a seat in the chair across from him on the other side of the desk. He took his glasses off and leaned back in his big office chair.

"Roman Blake," he said, a grin spreading across his face.

"Coach," I said back in greeting.

"I had to start Greg Hackman when you left, do you know that? We lost four games back to back."

"Sounds rough; did he get better?"

"He had no choice. He had to fill your big fucking shoes," he said.

I laughed, relaxing a little. Coach had always been hard, pushing us when he knew we were half-stepping it, but he was a pretty cool dude, too. Maybe other guys on the team didn't tell it like that, but that was how he had always been with me.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry I left you in the lurch."

"We lose good guys every year, that wasn't the bad part. It just came out of the blue with you," he said. "Where'd you end up? Korea? Europe?"

"Afghanistan." He whistled.

"Right in the shit, huh? Still got all your factory assembled parts?" he asked, joking. Lucky I did because that wouldn't have went down as smooth if I hadn't.

"Still like new."

"What about this part?" he asked, tapping his finger against his temple. I was glad he wasn't sugar coating it. I didn't like being treated like there might be something wrong with me.

"Sound of body and of mind, Coach. I'm ready to play."

"I bet you are. How much field time did you get in Afghanistan?"

"Not enough," I said. More like none. "That's why I'm here now."

"I was looking forward to sending you to the draft," he said almost wistfully.

"I was looking forward to going. I know I lost a year, but I'm ready to start over. Whatever it takes."

"You did lose a year, huh," he said. "The guys getting picked up by the league for next season? None of those guys did." I nodded gravely.

"I know. I'm confident about building my base back up. I'm still in good shape, strength, cardio… I'm ready to give it everything."

"Are you coming back this semester?"