6. Calvin
CHAPTER SIX
calvin
He has to know.
I mean, he has to. Shields and Adler are not subtle. Not at all. He knew exactly what they were insinuating when they said Coach must have really liked me to let me back on the team.
Even though he knows his brother is faithfully married, he knew what they were saying about me. And that they meant it.
So why the hell did he keep defending me? Why didn’t he just join in like all the other assholes around here? What’s his deal?
I can’t figure Jonah Zimmerman out, and it’s starting to drive me a little crazy.
I make my way into the locker room, going right past Adler and Shields, ignoring the kissing noises they make as I head through Coach’s open door.
He’s chatting with his assistant coach, but when he sees me, he walks into his office and closes the door behind him.
Sitting down at his desk, he motions for me to take a seat in one of the chairs by the large window that looks out at the locker room, so he can keep an eye on us while he’s in here. I sit, but my entire body is rigid as I wait for what he’s going to say.
Is he going to tell me I’m off the team? That I shouldn’t have come back? I don’t know. I can say that’s what I want all I like, but it’s not true. Jonah has me pegged—I love the sport. I love to play. But I hate the other players.
“I’m glad you came back,” he says, as if to confirm what he told me earlier. But that can’t be right. As much as I hate Adler and Shields, they weren’t wrong. Anyone else would have been off the team.
And despite what Coach said at the beginning of practice and what he’s saying now, I still expect to be kicked off the team. For him to continue with a but you can’t be here.
That’s not what happens. He’s silently staring at me, waiting for a reply. “You’re really going to let me back on the team?”
He pushes his hand through his hair before taking a deep breath and releasing it, propping his elbows up on his desk as he faces me. “I should have told you about Jonah coming on as QB1. I should have given all of you a heads-up and an explanation.”
That’s . . . no. He’s Coach. He’s just supposed to yell and tell me that it’s his way or the highway. That he can make any decision he wants for the team and our job is to comply.
But that’s not Coach Zimmerman.
“I’m sorry.” He says it effortlessly. I know he means it.
But I shake my head anyway. “You’re not supposed to be apologizing to me. I’m the one who left practice. I’m the asshole.”
“You were taken off guard, and you thought I betrayed you.”
I shake my head again in disbelief. I had to listen all through dinner last night about the pansy new coach and how, back in my grandfather and father’s day, the coaches were hard-asses, and didn’t put their little brothers on the team.
And on and on and on about back in the day.
How men were men and things that had nothing to do with what happened.
I just ate my mom’s pot roast and sat there silently as they bitched about me not being on the team anymore, but my grandfather slapped me on the shoulder and told me he would have done the same thing.
That Coach was lucky to have another Duke on the team. Like we run this town.
No way he would have put up with that bullshit, he said. But as I look at Coach, I realize how stupid I was to walk off. Because he is the coach, and he had every right to add his brother to the roster if he wanted to. He doesn’t owe me shit.
“I shouldn’t have walked off like that,” I say.
He just shrugs, letting his hands fall so his palms are flat on the desk.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you came back.
We need you.” I can see the hurt in his eyes and all over his face as he looks over at me, his voice lowering.
“I love my brother, and he needed a place to stay. And it’s probably true that I would have given him a spot on the team, no matter what. ”
I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to explain anything to me when he holds up one hand and shakes his head to stop me.
“But I wouldn’t have put him in the QB1 position if he hadn’t already earned it out on the field—not ours—but I’ve seen him play. He’s talented. I promise you.”
And I know he is. I could see it today in practice.
The guy is a natural. There’s no doubt about it.
Everything about him is sleek and sure. I try like hell not to think too much about Jonah—the way his arm muscles tighten and pop as he throws the ball through the air with precision that comes with years of practice.
The way his high cheekbones shimmered in the sun . . .
I clear my throat and lick my dry lips, trying to shake off all thoughts of Jonah—Coach’s little brother. “I understand,” I stutter. “I believe you.”
With that, he smiles and looks so relieved, it’s almost heartbreaking. “Good. You two looked good together out there today.”
My heart kicks up, and my eyes widen in his direction.
Together? I nearly trip over my damn feet as I stand up and start toward the door, thinking about that.
We looked good together. He says it so casually, but somehow, it scrambled my brain.
“Uh . . .” I reach the door. “Yeah, sure.” I look back over at Coach, who tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowed as he watches me closely.
And why wouldn’t he be? I’m acting insane. “See you tomorrow?”
I nod at that a little exuberantly, way over-the-top, if I’m being honest, my mind still on Jonah and me looking good together.
“Yeah. Sure. Of course.” I stumble over the words and listen to Coach’s light chuckle as I walk out his door and make it to my locker on shaky legs, no doubt in my mind that he’s shaking his head at me as he laughs because again—insane.
But there was no cruelty there. No malice.
He’s nothing like the last coach, the one Curtis and my father and grandfather liked because he wasn’t a pussy.
To them, Coach Zimmerman is soft because he doesn’t spend the entire practice turning bright red from screaming the whole time and kicking our asses.
The locker room is nearly cleared out except for Jonah, who has a white linen bag, walking around and picking up sweaty clothes the rowdy pigs left behind. His eyes meet mine nervously, and I want to lay into him.
Tell him not to look at me. Tell him I don’t need him to defend me, but instead, I just pull my sweaty cutoff T-shirt over my head and toss it into my gym bag before removing the rest of my clothes and heading to the shower. Not saying another word to him.
His hair was wet though, and he was dressed in what looked like clean shorts and a new T-shirt, so at least I don’t have to worry about him joining me. I don’t think I could take it.
Jonah is too pretty. There’s no other way to describe him, and if I’m honest with myself—which I’m not by the way, not ever—he’s exactly my type.
Tall and lean with just a bit of muscle.
A beautiful face with eyes that reveal he’s seen way too much in his eighteen years on the planet, but that he still, somehow, has hope.
I hate it.
I scrub myself raw with the shower soap and think about just how much I hate it the whole time. Because it’s dangerous to think of anything else. I rinse off and grab a towel, drying as much as I can before I wrap the thing around my waist and stalk to my locker.
I’m hoping Jonah is finished cleaning up, and he is—but he didn’t leave. Nope. He’s sitting on the bench right in front of my locker, his eyes running all over my wet, nearly naked body.
I quickly turn away from him because him looking at me like that is . . . making me uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, my towel starts to tent, and I can’t have that. I certainly can’t let him see that.
I mean, he knows. He has to know. I remember Shields and Adler’s cruel taunts, and my cheeks flame hot as I face away from him, unsure what to do now since my bag is next to him on the bench and I’m trying like hell to avoid him.
I breathe and try to get my dick under control. Just because he was looking at me doesn’t mean he’s interested. That he likes what he sees. That’s crazy. He’s Coach’s little brother. A star quarterback.
He’s not like me.
He’d probably kick my ass if he saw the way my dick is trying to escape the towel just from his eyes being on me for less than a minute.
“What are you doing?” I ask, still not looking at him, but I swear I can feel his eyes on me.
“Why do you let them get away with that shit?” His tone isn’t really accusing, but I hear the anger in it, which makes me forget about my whole dick situation and turn to face him.
“Why do you waste your time fighting with them? Trust me, it’s not worth it.” I’m not worth it.
He looks genuinely confused, his head cocking to the side much like his brother.
Remembering his brother, my eyes dart to the office window, but the blinds have been pulled down, and his door is closed.
He’s likely getting some work done before he heads home and doesn’t care about our conversation at all.
I turn back to Jonah, who’s still watching me, my face this time, but it still makes me shift uncomfortably—feeling vulnerable and on full display. “Bullying isn’t cool, and I’m already sick of their shit.”
His eyes start to slide down from my face and go lower, way too low. And yup—my problem is back. Why the hell is he looking at my body like he wants to fucking eat me? Is he fucking with me?
Shields and Adler are terrible. I hate them, but at least they’re stupid. They just get right to it. Is this the long game? Jonah is smart. I can see that.
I watch his tongue dart out of his mouth, slowly licking over his lips that look soft and supple before he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his intense eyes meeting mine. My dick is way past being tamed now as I watch him with wariness and wonder.
But I shake it off. I won’t be fucked with. I mean—well . . . no. I’m just keeping my head down and getting through this year. That’s all I’m going to do.
I grab my underwear and shorts from my bag, turning away from him. I pull my briefs on under the towel, forcing my hard dick into them as best I can before pulling my shorts up and ripping the towel off my waist.
I grab a shirt and pull it on before facing Jonah again. “You can’t do that. Okay? You can’t taunt them because they’ll just keep coming back and with more force than before. Just let it go.”
“I can’t,” he says with so much intensity, like it’s really not an option for him. Like he really can’t help it. He stands up to face me, his eyes directly on mine with him being almost my height. “I won’t.”
“Then it’s going to be a really long year,” I say honestly. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Once they get any sort of pushback, they’re all over it.
“Maybe,” he says easily, like it doesn’t bother him. How could it not bother him? “But I’m not just going to sit by and let them push you or anyone else around, and you shouldn’t let them do that either.”
“Oh yeah?” I say, my tone defensive as I sling my bag over my shoulder. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Punch them, like you wanted to?”
I saw the way his fist clenched and pulled back. If that whistle hadn’t blown, he would have swung, no doubt in my mind. But then what? What would it have gotten him?
And Coach?
If he didn’t kick him off the team for that, he would have faced some serious backlash.
“You need to start thinking,” I say, stepping into him, trying to intimidate him, but he doesn’t cower. I’m quickly learning that Jonah doesn’t cower. Not ever. “Use your head. They’re just words.”
“Words have power.”
I shake my head. “We’re just dumb jocks. Words can’t hurt us.” I say it, though I know it’s bullshit.
“Cal—” he starts, but I step away toward the exit.
“Don’t, okay? Don’t. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want it. We’re teammates. You weren’t lying, you’re good.” I take a few more steps toward the door, so close to leaving, but I stop and turn, looking over at Jonah, who’s stayed put. “It’ll be a good year if you can just not engage.”
He smirks, a devilish little grin that makes his eyes dance. “You have a lot to learn about me, Calvin. I always engage.”
I roll my eyes, wanting to be annoyed, but as I pull open the locker-room door to walk away, I find myself doing something I don’t do very often at all . . .
I smile.