Chapter Fourteen Cash
Chapter Fourteen
Cash
Two days after my first date with Saylor I had my first date with the Wildcats.
The live spring scrimmage was open to the public and the media.
We suited up the same as for a conference opponent—only, the offense wore home jerseys, while the defense wore away uniforms. I had expected to feel weird playing the game while wearing a new set of colors.
But the second I pulled my navy-blue lucky number seven jersey over my pads, I felt like a Wildcat for the first time since I arrived on campus.
Since it was offense versus defense, the spectators cheered for everything about every play.
The biggest cheers went up for the favorites on both sides of the ball: Callahan, Danny, Patty, Tarvi, Bax, and Finn.
Even Dalton got some love when he kicked a forty-five-yard field goal early in the second quarter.
I stood beside Coach Wiley absorbing as much of his game-day commentary as I could.
When it was finally my turn to relieve Patty in the second quarter, my game-time butterflies were running routes through my belly like an entire squad of receivers.
On my first play from scrimmage, Coach Wiley called the tricky homerun I’d thrown to Callahan a few weeks ago in practice, but this time, I wasn’t wearing a red jersey to remind the defense to play nice with me.
As scripted, I dropped back three steps, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of what could only be one wild-man middle linebacker: Wyatt Baxter.
I spun hard to my right and took off parallel to the line of scrimmage, scrambling away from a certain sack.
The line flowed with me since the play was supposed to go to the right anyway, and through a seam between the guard and the tackle, I glimpsed Callahan O’Reilly streaking down the right sideline.
Setting my feet, I cocked my arm back and threw a laser at him.
Right as the ball left my hand, 240 pounds of speed and determination drove me into the turf.
While I wasn’t a fan of Bax’s technique, I grinned up at him when he rolled off me and offered me a hand up.
All around us, the fans in the stands were screaming.
When we turned our attention downfield, there was Callahan, standing in the end zone, pointing the ball to some spot in the bleachers, while the rest of the offense danced around him. I took off at a dead run to join them.
When I returned to the sidelines, I walked over to Coach Ainsworth. “You still worried about my durability, Coach?”
“You must have eyes in the back of your head.” He snorted.
“Well done, son,” Coach Wiley said as he joined us. “You ran that play exactly as we drew it up.” After giving me a fist bump, he turned his attention to O’Reilly, the real hero of the offense.
The next time Coach sent me onto the field I handed the rock off to Tarvi for a couple of running plays before I had another chance to throw it.
This time I found Danny on a crossing route and dropped the ball directly into his hands for a fifteen-yard gain.
Coach continued to mix up the run and pass plays, though he didn’t give me the same option plays he gave Patty.
Guess the staff still didn’t fully trust my scrambling skills.
But I went eight-for-ten on pass attempts before we ended up settling for another Dalton Sneed field goal.
In the second half of the scrimmage, LeSean got most of the work with the second team offense.
The planet-size chip he was carrying on his shoulder didn’t help his play much.
While he didn’t add to the offense’s score, at least he didn’t put us in a hole either.
The tantrum he threw in the locker room afterward impressed no one, least of all Coach Ellis.
But when I walked out of the facility, it wasn’t LeSean who was standing in Coach’s office receiving a dressing down.
Why Coach was mad at Finn and Callahan was a mystery—and none of my business, so I put my head down and kept walking.
“What’s going on with McCabe and O’Reilly?” I asked Dally as I hopped into the passenger seat of his truck.
“Fuck if I know, but I bet we’ll hear all about it at Stromboli’s.”
When we arrived at the pizzeria, Danny and Tarvi and their girlfriends were already seated at a booth.
Before we could slide in with them, Taco and Dalton beat us to the extra seats, so we grabbed the next booth back.
A few minutes later, Bax, Finn, and Callahan arrived with their girlfriends—and Saylor.
Dally was asking what beer I wanted when I saw her walk in.
As I slid out of the booth to make room for her, I overheard Bax say, “The guy’s got some dog in him.
” His face lit up when he saw me. “Just who I was talking about.” He extended his hand and as we shook, he pulled me in to clap me on the back.
“You took the hits like a man out there today,” he said, laughing.
“And still made you look silly when Callahan caught that pass.” Turning to Callahan, I said, “Can’t wait to watch that play on film so I can appreciate your awesomeness.” Then I sobered. “That is if you’re still on the team. What the hell was going on in Coach’s office?”
“Tell you later.” Callahan ushered Jamaica, his hot, curly-haired girlfriend, into the booth.
Bax and Piper slid in across from them, while Patty slid in beside Bax. Saylor shot daggers at her friends, but I didn’t even bother to hide my grin.
“We have space for you with us, Saylor,” I said, gesturing for her to slide into our booth.
She turned those daggers on me, and I merely raised a brow as I gave her a quick once-over, ending with her eyes—daring her.
Without a word she slid into the booth, and I wasted no time in sliding in beside her.
Finn and his girlfriend, Chessly, slid in beside Dally.
With his attention on the beer list, Dally didn’t pick up on the charged looks the three of them—Finn, Chessly, and Saylor—exchanged.
But with my attention on Saylor, I couldn’t miss it.
Directing my question at Finn, I asked, “What the hell happened after the game?”
“Tory Miller put one of her little friends up to trying to wreck Finn’s life,” Saylor answered for him.
I pulled my brows together. “Who is Tory Miller, and how could her friend wreck Finn’s life?”
“She’s a skank who’s been making Chessly and Jamaica’s lives hard for the past two years. Dragging Finn into it was just nasty.” From Saylor’s tone, I could tell she’d like a piece of Tory Miller.
“How—?”
“Her friend went to Coach and said I was the father of the bun in her oven.” Finn put up a hand when I started to ask. “Which I’m not.”
“After today’s stunt, maybe Coach will finally listen to the captains about not wanting Tory’s dad’s sponsorship money anymore,” Dally said from the corner of the booth.
Huh. Guess he was dialed in.
“The captains have been telling him that all year, but this stunt might be the last straw.” Finn settled in closer to Chessly. “I can’t help but feel sorry for the girl though. Judging by the way her dad treated her in Ellis’s office, she has bigger problems than being pregnant.”
“She’s the kind of girl Tory and her posse of mean girls loves to target,” Chessly said. “I think they get their jollies from turning nice girls into bitches like them.”
“Harsh,” I said.
Beside me Saylor piped up. “But not wrong.”
“Everything’s good with Ellis now though, right?” I asked, returning to the important part.
“Yeah.” Finn sounded like he’d played in three scrimmages back-to-back-to-back.
Chessly whispered something in his ear, and the big defensive end visibly relaxed.
“Good work out there today,” Dally said, giving us a welcome change of subject. “You and Patty could become the dual quarterback threat that can take us to the promised land.” His grin was almost as big as he was.
“Thanks.”
After the effort I’d put in all semester to bring the guys around to seeing me as an asset rather than a threat, it felt good to hear those words from my center’s mouth.
Turning to the gorgeous girl beside me, I said, “What did you think of the game?”
Those incredible amber eyes held a speculative gleam. “You’re pretty competitive for someone who’s not planning to play in the NFL.”
“What the fuck?” Finn almost choked.
The server interrupted before I could answer. “What can I get you guys?” she asked, her attention on Dally.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asked the rest of us.
We settled on a pitcher of lager and a pitcher of wheat and two extra-large pizzas—the works for us guys, and a chicken and artichoke pie for the girls.
Once the server moved off to put in our order, Finn returned the spotlight to me. “Why aren’t you trying for the pros?”
I shrugged, using the gesture as cover to move a little closer to Saylor. “I transferred from FBS to FCS where I’m the backup. How many scouts are going to find me interesting, do you think?”
“If you’re dropping dimes on receivers at sixty yards when they come to watch the rest of us, better believe they’re going to notice you,” Finn said as though the idea were a foregone conclusion.
Beside me Saylor stiffened. After our conversations about her friends giving up their dreams to follow their football superstars, I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what her response meant.
Then again, if she weren’t interested in me, she wouldn’t care.
I hid a grin as I slipped my palm over the top of her jeans-covered thigh.
“Honestly, I lost my chance when I blew my knee out sophomore year. Doesn’t matter that now it feels better than before I hurt it.
” I did my best to withhold the bitterness from my voice.
“My old school would have only put me on the field during garbage time. At least here I have a real shot at helping the team.” I gave Saylor’s thigh a small caress. “I’m not looking for more than that.”