14ADAM
14 ADAM
“I hate these stupid things, man.” Tug says to me when I give him a small nod. It must be later than I thought if I’m arriving at the same time as him. He’s a beast of a player and a great dude but he is slow as hell off the field.
I double check the sign to make sure we’re headed in the right direction. There are a few big meeting rooms around the stadium.
Football Boosters
VIP Mixer
Yup.
I keep walking and pull at my jersey around my neck.
“I think they changed the detergent on our uniforms.” Tug says, scratching as well.
“Nah, just feels weird to wear them with jeans. It was ok in high school with the smaller pads but this is just stupid.”
“Ah, yeah, man. I loved wearing my uniform on rally days. Girls loved ‘em.” I chuckle. But he looks around us at the massive stadium in awe. He’s a year younger than me and he’s from a tiny town in Louisiana. “But we ain’t headed to a student pep rally, that’s for sure, man. How much combined money you think is behind these VIP boosters? Millions?”
“Definitely.” I say.
“At least it’s casual and not a banquet. I really hate those. Suits are too hot and there’s too many damn forks man.”
I laugh, “I hate those too.”
We hear the sounds of people talking, well, more like bragging and sucking up. I brace myself. My parents are in there. Tug seems happy as we walk into a chorus of hellos and “Oh, look, it’s Tug!” and a few people ring their keys in place of little bells. That’s for me.
But I just fight to keep my face from grimacing.
I love football on the field. Running hard, smashing into things. Off the field, it’s more my Dad’s game. And that makes me hate the thing that I love. Then hate that I hate it…it’s all so damn weird.
I scan around, hoping to find my mother and avoid my father.
But then I see her.
All sparkly blonde and bright smiles and…
What the hell…
My feet start moving.
“Adam, hi!” She says when I reach her.
“What the hell are you wearing, Susan?”
She shrinks back and I don’t blame her. I sound scary. I can’t help it. Just like the “hot fireman” crap at that crap bar. I just snap.
I’m pulling at my back, tugging on the material without even thinking.
I lean in close and mutter, “It should be my damn number on your chest shouldn’t it?”
“I, uh, you know Shep’s a good friend, I—”
“Yeah, well, I’m your good friend now. Put the jersey on.” I grind out.
She blinks a couple times and then takes the jersey I’ve shoved toward her hands.
Her eyes frown at the uniform for a second but then they travel. And they go wide. To my abs, chest, arms, all visible under the pads. Her lips part.
This girl is about to start drooling.
I don’t smirk. I would, because it does feel good, catching her in the act like this, but I’m too damn angry to even see straight.
“Are, are you going to just walk around like that?” She stutters as she opens up my jersey to put it on.
“I’ll go back to the locker room.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.”
I turn and storm out of the room.
As soon as I’m away from her it’s like I can finally think straight again and what the actual hell was that, Adam?
Shep is her friend.
I mean, Shep is my friend. I love the guy.
I gotta get it together.
I can’t lead her on. I won’t.
I am not my brother.
Cute spice, smart spice, sexy spice, she’s annoying spice is what she—I stop walking, close my eyes and curse my own Suzie-sounding thoughts.
However distracting she is in those skirts—which I shouldn’t have said anything about, I’m still mad I even noticed—distracting with her sunshine hair and her damn binder of checklists.
I heard what she wanted when she gushed about my brother to her friend.
And I’m not it.
I’m not gonna tick off her little boxes.
She isn’t mine, and she isn’t going to be mine. I don’t want that.
I. Don’t. Want. This.
Why is that getting harder and harder for me to remember?