One thing is for sure. I know I'm not going to reach my goals if I get involved in a relationship with a needy girlfriend. That's one promise I've made to myself. No girlfriends. No relationship. No drama. No bullshit.
If I want to make it to the NFL, my motto has gotta be fuck 'em and leave ‘em. It's harsh, but I have to protect myself. I don't want to become too attached. And I know what could happen if I fuck up by falling in love and getting a chick pregnant. It already happened to one of my best friends who now had to put his entire life on hold because he'd knocked up a chick he had feelings for. He was 'the guy' before I showed up on varsity, and we formed the core of a good one-two threat before he got the bitch pregnant. He quit the team, saying he wanted to man up, and that was when the shit hit the fan. He's been forced to work two shitty jobs to support the baby, and his grades fell because of it. With no football and no grades, he couldn't qualify for college and was stuck in those same two jobs, a miserable bastard. The worst part of it all? His lady love cheated on him shortly after giving birth. Hell, she asked if I wanted a piece of her ass when I stopped by once to see how my buddy and the baby were doing.
I vow that I'm not going to be that sucker.
The cheerleading squad takes a rest and I watch as Whitney pauses to dig the tights she's wearing out of the crack of her ass. She glances around as if worried someone is watching, and our eyes meet. She stares at me, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink, and I give her my most charming smile. Her lips part, as if in surprise, and then she looks away. Bending over, she grabs a water bottle before realizing she's giving us a pretty good view of what she was just digging out, and I can't help it. Mr. Disco Stick is ready to say hel-fucking-lo, and I'm not all that disinclined to stop him.
I can't keep the grin off my face, but I'm worried about how much I want to meet this girl. Usually, I let them come to me, yet I want to go to her. It's like she's a magnet and I'm a big hunk of metal. I mean, I'm a big hunk of something, and it can get hard as steel, but that doesn't mean I'm made of it.
“You are totally checking her out for yourself,” Russ accuses, catching the exchange. "Or is that bulge in your pants because of Cory's Gangnam style dance?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Don't play stupid. You're not in AP English, but you aren't an idiot either.”
I think desperately and come up with the first idea that pops into my head besides Whitney's ass. “I was just thinking about the new plays I want to try at practice tomorrow. In case you didn't notice, we've got Blueridge on Friday, and their fullback isn't a pussy like you.”
“Right.”
“I was.” I run my gaze over my gathered teammates. “And I want you all to be ready to try them out. No questions asked. I think it will help us when we play against Blueridge. I’m not starting my senior year with a loss.”
“And have you run these plays by Coach Jackson?” asks Cory. “Usually he wants to look them over and approve them before trying them out."
I shake my head. “Nope. But I'm sure he won't mind. He knows all my strategies are good.”
“Cocky bastard,” Cory grumbles.
“He can afford to be cocky when he practically has a scholarship to any school he wants,” says Russ enviously. “Ain't that right, Troy? So which are you going with? Notre Dame? Stanford? Nah, you ain't got the grades for Stanford, but I bet the SEC would hook you up really good—football, easy grades, and Southern girls. Fuck, you wanna stay out here West Side, just go down to Clement, right?”
“I don't have one yet,” I say. "You all know that."
Russ drops his jaw in mock astonishment, giving me a melodramatic gasp. “You mean to tell me the King of Campus doesn't have a scholarship?”
“Cut it out, jackass, before I deck you. I said I don't have one yet, not that I'll never get one. School has only just started back.” Russ is showing his jealousy by bringing up my scholarship, but I'm not going to sweat it. I know that most times, athletes are awarded scholarships in their senior year. Russ needs to stop talking shit and worry about himself. He'd be lucky to get one to a D-II school in North Dakota, let alone a major conference school like I'm in line for.
“What school you hoping for most?” Cory asks curiously.
“I dunno. Maybe State,” I say with a shrug. State has one of the best football programs in the Northwest, and best of all, they get on TV a lot so I'd get a good chance to be noticed by pro scouts, so it’s a natural choice. But honestly, I don't think it matters where I wind up.
“Wherever he goes, they’d better have a field that can contain his ego,” says Russ. "Goddamn Rose Bowl isn't big enough for it from what I've seen."
“Shit, they’d better have a cup size that can contain my dick,” I joke. "Do they make cups in foot-long size? I play soft, not hard like Cory does with his two-incher."
The guys erupt with laughter around me, but I can only keep cutting glances at Whitney.
Chapter 3
Whitney