19 nothing happening
By the middle of practice, Logan's staring at me like he wants to physically remove my organs.
Which feels dramatic.
Slightly understandable maybe.
But dramatic.
"Bennett," Coach yells from across the field. "You planning on catching the ball today or just fucking observing it?"
Scott immediately loses it beside me. "Jesus Christ."
"I saw it late."
"You saw it hit your face," Scott corrects.
"That feels unnecessarily specific."
Coach blows the whistle again while muttering something that definitely sounds like unbelievable under his breath, and I jog back into position trying not to look toward Logan because I can already feel him glaring from somewhere near the offensive line.
Unfortunately for me, Scott notices everything.
"You good?" he asks quietly while adjusting his gloves.
"Fantastic."
"That pass literally bounced off your chest."
"The sun was in my eyes."
"It's cloudy."
"Then God was against me."
Scott snorts loudly enough that one of the linebackers turns around.
Practice starts again immediately after that, helmets cracking together somewhere to my left while Coach screams instructions loud enough to shake the entire field, and normally this is the part where my brain shuts everything else out automatically.
Football.
Routes.
Movement.
Focus.
Simple.
Except today my thoughts keep drifting anyway.
Back to last night.
Back to the dorm.
Back to Everly sitting cross-legged on her bed looking at me too carefully while I accidentally told her things I usually keep buried under sarcasm and parties and whatever else distracts me long enough to avoid thinking too hard.
Very cool behavior from me honestly.
I catch the next pass cleanly anyway, mostly out of muscle memory, turning upfield automatically before Logan nearly takes my head off during the next drill.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I bark, stumbling sideways.
Logan barely reacts while resetting his stance again. "Focus."
Scott lets out a loud ooh from behind me like we're in middle school.
I glare at him. "You're deeply irritating."
"You look like divorced parents."
"That sentence made me physically ill."
Scott grins shamelessly before jogging off toward the next drill while Logan keeps watching me with that same calm expression that somehow feels more threatening than yelling would.
Which is honestly impressive.
Practice finally ends almost two hours later with everybody sweaty, exhausted and smelling aggressively terrible, and I'm halfway through pulling my helmet off when Logan appears beside me.
Great.
"Bennett."
There's something uniquely horrifying about hearing your last name in quarterback voice.
I glance over slowly. "Coleman."
"We need to talk."
"Those are never good words."
Logan ignores that entirely, jerking his head toward the side of the field before walking off without checking whether I'm following.
Cocky.
I respect it a little.
Unfortunately I also follow him anyway because I enjoy making bad decisions apparently.
The second we're far enough from the rest of the team, Logan turns toward me with his arms crossed. "You distracted today?"
"Nope."
"That was a lie."
"Correct."
Logan stares at me for another second before speaking again. "Back off."
Straight to the point then.
I let out a short laugh through my nose. "Jesus Christ. We're doing this again?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I when I say nothing's happening."
"Bullshit."
That answer comes immediately.
No hesitation, like he already decided what he thinks about me weeks ago.
I shove my helmet under my arm. "You're being dramatic."
"You think I don't know your reputation?"
"There it is."
"You party constantly," Logan continues evenly. "You hook up with random girls every weekend. You don't take anything seriously except football."
The annoying part is that none of that is technically wrong.
"I'm still waiting for the part where that's your business."
"The part where you live with my sister."
Something sharp flickers in my chest immediately.
I cover it with a laugh before it can settle properly. "I'm not after your sister."
Logan just stares at me. "Bullshit."
The certainty in his voice irritates me instantly.
Mostly because some stupid part of my brain hesitates for half a second before arguing back.
Which is deeply concerning.
I scoff harder this time. "You're acting insane."
"No," Logan says calmly. "I know guys like you."
That one lands harder than I expect.
Because suddenly I'm weirdly angry.
Not loud angry, just sharp under the skin, like I want to argue with him even though I technically shouldn't care.
"She deserves better than becoming another distraction for somebody who can't get his shit together."
There it is.
That should piss me off more than it does.
Instead my brain catches on one specific part of the sentence.
Another distraction.
Like he already assumes I'd hurt her eventually.
Maybe he should.
Probably smart honestly.
I shake my head once. "Nothing's happening."
Logan watches me for another second before stepping back slightly.
"Good," he says evenly. "Keep it that way."
Then he walks off toward the locker room without another word.
And somehow I stand there afterward feeling irritated enough that it takes me a second to realize why.
-
By the time I get back to the dorm later that evening, the hallway's mostly quiet except for distant music somewhere downstairs and somebody laughing loud enough to echo through the stairwell.
I unlock the room automatically.
Expect noise.
Or sarcasm.
Or Everly sitting cross-legged on her bed pretending to study while secretly listening to every word I say.
Instead the room's empty.
And fucking hell, I notice immediately.
There's a sticky note stuck to my pillow in messy handwriting.
Jackson,
Study group. Try not to emotionally terrorize freshmen while I'm gone.
- E
I snort out a laugh before I can stop it.
Of course she leaves notes like a seventy-year-old divorced dad.
I toss my bag onto the floor and sit down on my bed, still staring at the note for another second longer than necessary.
The room feels weirdly quiet without her here.
Not just empty.
Off, like something's missing from it now.
Which is insane.
We've known each other for like five minutes.
Okay, technically longer than five minutes.
Still.
The realization settles slowly and annoyingly while I lean back against the wall, eyes drifting automatically toward her side of the room, guitar leaning beside her desk, hoodie thrown across her chair, psychology notes spread everywhere like she got personally attacked by a highlighter.
My chest tightens slightly before I even realize where the thought's heading.
I wait for her now.
That's the problem.
Somewhere along the way, Everly stopped feeling like a temporary roommate situation and started feeling like part of my routine, and now when she's not here the room feels too quiet in a way I don't particularly like examining.
Which is exactly why I shut the thought down immediately.
Football first.
Always.
That's the whole point.
NFL.
Focus.
Discipline.
Not getting distracted because a sarcastic psychology major looks at me too carefully sometimes.
I drag a hand down my face slowly before standing back up.
Distance is probably smarter.
Necessary actually.
Because Logan's right about one thing at least.
Nothing can happen here.