Out in the Offense (Out in College 3)

Why didn’t you call me back? I typed.

I don’t use the phone.

Fucker. Will you please make an exception? I need to talk to you.

No. I growled at my cell until Sky magically added, Text me whatever you have to say.

I glanced up at Rory. He agreed to let our usual tutoring session slide this week and play catch with me at the park before my practice Thursday afternoon. He was dressed like me—in black workout leggings and a blue pullover that hugged his muscles and made his eyes pop.

I propped my leg on the picnic bench and refocused on the text thread. I tried to think of how to nicely ask Sky if he was about to ruin my life. Or if he’d give me the honor of doing it myself.

I settled on, Are we cool?

Barely but don’t worry. I’m not spilling any secrets. I don’t care enough to deal with your drama.

My drama? I almost asked what he meant, but I didn’t want him to change his mind.

Thanks. Take care.

You’re welcome. Leave me alone. Forever please.

“Ugh. He’s such a little fucker. I don’t get what Max saw in him,” I groused before filling Rory in on the text conversation.

“You have to let it go for now,” Rory commented, tossing the ball to me.

“Are you tired or can you run a couple more routes?”

“One more. We’ve been at this for an hour. Remind me, how is this fun again?”

I rolled my eyes and shot an indulgent smile at my boyfriend. We hadn’t used the B-word or even the L-word yet, but it was unspoken. I could feel it in the way he looked at me and I knew that in spite of his complaints, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“It’s fun because football is fun,” I singsonged, launching the ball at him.

He dove for the ball and missed by an inch. His momentum sent him flying face-first onto the damp grass. I ran to his side and asked if he was okay as I brushed nonexistent dirt from his ass, then squeezed it for good measure.

Rory sprang to his feet and held his hands out for inspection. “I think we’re done here.”

“Poor baby.” I kissed his left palm, then held his wrist still and traced the Spanish script. “You never told me what this means to you. Will you tell me now?”

He lifted one wrist and then the other. “ ‘In me all this fire is repeated,’ and ‘In me nothing is extinguished or forgotten.’ Like any poem or story, you can take your own meaning and run with it, but to me, this one is about taking chances. It starts with a very practical…‘I like you, but if you want me to leave, that’s fine, I’m out.’ But at the end, the tone changes to more of a ‘If you’re in this one hundred percent, I’m going to give you one hundred and ten.’ It’s a reminder not to give up.”

“I like that. I should get a tattoo.”

“What would you get?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to think about it,” I pronounced, hiking the ball under my arm. “Something symbolic but not clichéd. I like the writing idea too, but it would have to speak to me forever, you know?”

“You could do your jersey number or your birthday or—”

“Or I could finish that poem.”

Rory stopped in his tracks and lowered his sunglasses. “I don’t know the rest.”

“I could look it up. Someday,” I said in a lighthearted tone. “Come on. I have to get going.”

He tugged at my elbow and pulled me against him, then pressed a quick kiss on my lips. “Hey, I’m…I’m—you’re…you’re important to me. Special. And this might be the ultimate cliché, but I want to tattoo you somewhere on my body, so I’ll always remember how this feels. This day, this time. You.”

“That’s very…romantic,” I whispered.

“Yeah, that’s me. Mr. Romance. Don’t tell anyone, all right?”

I walked beside him, listening to the cadence of his deep timbre above the sound of crunching leaves and birds chirping. I wished he’d parked his truck a mile away. Every footstep felt significant. I curbed my impulse to check the time so I could make a mental note because his unexpectedly lovely sentiment made me think the details mattered.

I chuckled when he grumbled good-naturedly about grass stains on his new sneakers, then gave in to temptation and glanced at my watch. Three oh five in the afternoon, November 15th. This was the day I truly fell in love with Rory.

7

According to my high-school football coach, every game was created equal. The first, fourth, and final games of any season should be played with the same amount of heart, grit, and intensity. Over the years, it had become my personal mantra. Sure, the championship qualifier was a big deal, but we wouldn’t have come this far as a team if we hadn’t worked our asses off all season. I paced the locker room like a caged tiger, pumping myself up before I called everyone into a huddle. When I had my rhythm down, I pulled my helmet over my head and signaled to Jonesie to give one of his ear-splitting whistles. Within seconds, I was surrounded by giants in full uniform. They were ready for action, but it was my job to rev them up and remind them what we were here to do.