Kicked (14 page)

“The only thing I’m going to do is go back to my dorm and turn in. I’ll be out bright and early to watch you kick. I haven’t gotten up before eight o’clock in years.” He rubbed a hand across the sandy stubble on his jaw. “This is going to be tough.”

I walked backward to my bed and kept the blanket pulled around me. “You can do it.”

“For you, I can.” He gave me a wry smile before turning and opening the door. Stepping out into the hall, he glanced back. “It’s cold out there. I need something to keep me warm on the walk. Can I just get one more peek at your pajamas?”

“Out!” I laughed and sank onto my bed as he closed the door.

Ellie turned her back to me in a huff as I arranged my blanket and clicked off my light. “You’ve got two guys in love with you. Both hot. And now you won’t even let me borrow one of them?”

I snorted. “Landon is in love with no one but himself. He gets so many girls he’s like a human speculum or something.”

“One, eww. Two, you’re an idiot if you can’t tell he’s all about you. Oh, and three, thanks a lot for the epic cock block.”

I settled into my pillow and stared at Ellie’s back in the dark. “It’s not like that. He’s like a brother to me.”

“Like I said, you’re an idiot.”

“Sometimes.” Especially whenever Trent Carrington was concerned. But Landon was far too much of a free spirit to ever be interested in a girl like me. Sure, he’d probably like to give me a go in the sex department, but that would ruin our friendship. He’d never tried anything, and I was glad, because I didn’t think of him that way.

“Anyway, good luck tomorrow.”

My eyes widened. “Are you going to come watch?”

“Hell no.” She made a pfft noise. “And be quiet when you leave since I want to sleep in. My first class got canceled.”

Such a bitch.
“Thanks, Ellie.” I shook my head and grinned.

“You’re welcome. Now shut up. I need my beauty sleep.”

I tried to quiet my mind as Ellie drifted off and started her familiar snoring pattern. Clenching my eyes shut, I mentally counted football field yardage to try and lull myself to sleep. It was almost working until Trent flashed through my mind like lightning, leaving a discordant rumble of thunder in his wake.

I flipped onto my back and tried to force him from my mind. But he wouldn’t go. The sad tint to his voice at the restaurant still echoed inside me, and the remorse in his eyes made my mind wander back to the way his hands had felt on me. I fell asleep to the memory of his kiss.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

C
ORDY

T
HE DAY BROKE COOL
and sunny as I marched into the stadium. A few team members were already sitting along the sidelines in front of the heaters, while the walk-on hopefuls stretched and practiced. The grass was soft beneath my feet, and the sun hadn’t chased away the shadows on this side of the stadium yet.

“Well shit, if it isn’t my favorite princess.” Ethan rose from a bench and hustled over.

I crossed my arms over my chest and kept walking as he strode to my side. “Go away, Ethan.”

“What, a teammate can’t wish you good luck?” He leered and put an arm around my waist.

I jerked away from him. “Knock it off.”

“Don’t be such a bitch. Jeez.” Undeterred, he kept walking next to me.

“Don’t you have some puppies to kick or something?” I was already jittery enough without the wildebeest crowding me.

“You realize you’ll never make first-string, right?” He laughed, the sound hollow and forced. “If we only needed someone to make chip shots, Coach could just use me as the kicker. I can get it in from the one yard line every time just like you.”

“Why are you always such a dick?” I stopped and looked up at him, my nerves completely disintegrating what little filter I had. “Is this one of those things where you are mean to me because you want to date me or something?”

He cocked his head to the side, his thick neck like a tree trunk. “Date you? No. I want to f—”

“Cordy.” Trent walked up behind us, and I tried to ignore the relief his voice sent through me. “You ready?”

“We’re talking, rich boy. Why don’t you run along?” Ethan’s sneer somehow managed to make him even more unattractive, something I didn’t think possible.

“No, we’re done. Stay away from me.” I gave the wildebeest a too-sweet smile. “And thanks for your encouragement. It really got me fired up.”

“I’ll enjoy watching your chip shots.” He grinned. “And go ahead and do your stretches. That’s always my favorite part, princess.” Ethan turned and headed back to the warm benches.

I hurried away from Trent and toward the large heaters that would block Ethan’s line of sight to my warmups. Trent followed and dropped his ball and a tee to the ground. I wore a long-sleeved t-shirt and athletic pants, but goose bumps still broke out along my skin when he stood next to me and started stretching.

We remained silent, going through each position until I was as loose as I was going to get. I avoided his eyes the same way I’d trained myself to do for months, but my every sense was attuned to him. His steady breaths, the controlled strength in his movements, even the woodsy soap he used—all of it calmed me.

I rose to my full height and pulled my left arm across my body in unison with him. He went through each stretch with me, despite the fact he wasn’t kicking.

“Cordy.” Trent’s voice was gentle. “I know we’re not in the best place right now, and I’m hoping you’ll give me a shot at fixing it. But that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to help you, to be your holder. I’m going to watch and figure out which long kicker is the best. You’ve got this.”

I gazed out at the fifty or so hopefuls—all of them male, all of them bigger than me. “We’ll see.”

“All right!” Coach Sterling shouted through his bullhorn, the sound far too loud in the stillness of a chilly morning. “Let’s see what came out of the woodwork. First, I want every one of you who didn’t play as a kicker in high school or community college to step forward.”

Over half the kickers walked from the sideline and onto the field. “You boys go line up with Coach Carver. He’s the kicking coach who will be beating your ass on a regular basis should you make the team.”

The men did as requested. In the space of less than ten minutes, all of them were given chances to kick a chip shot. All but two missed them. Coach Carver sent those two back to the sidelines with the rest of us and dismissed the other hopefuls. Their dashed dreams didn’t make a sound, but plenty of them left the stadium with their heads down.

“Poor guys.” I rubbed my hands up and down my upper arms.

“Good riddance.” Trent stood at my elbow and watched them leave with a slight quirk of his lips.

It was weird to be standing next to him as if everything were normal and I hadn’t cried about him for hours the previous night. But there was nothing else I could do. He was the quarterback. I couldn’t exactly escape him when I was at a team tryout.

Head Coach Sterling approached the remaining hopefuls. “All right. The rest of you are going to go in alphabetical order. We’ll have you kick from different yardages on each hash, one at a time. You miss too many, you’re out. Simple as that. Good luck.”

“Thomas Allen, you’re up.” He handed the bullhorn off to Coach Carver.

“Allen, line up on the right hash, ten-yard line, and show me what you got.” Coach Carver strode out onto the field, his team windbreaker pulled up close around his neck. A ball boy hurried after him, pulling a pack laden with footballs and kicking tees.

The first kicker lined up. Allen was large, easily two hundred and twenty-five pounds. He was squat, and his beefy legs flexed with each stride.

I sank down on one of the benches near the heaters, but far from Ethan. Trent stood behind me and to my left, as if to further block the wildebeest from my view.

“Hey, I made it.” Landon’s voice rose over the hum of the heaters. He plopped down beside me.

My focus was entirely on Allen. The ball boy set up the football in the holding tee and scurried away. Allen measured his backward steps, then took three large steps to the right. I winced. He’d put far too much distance between himself and the ball for a twenty-yarder.

He dropped his shoulders and ran at the ball. I held my breath. He planted his left foot almost six inches behind the ball but still managed to swing hard enough with his right to get it airborne. The ball sailed like a wounded duck and nailed the left upright with a ping before falling to the ground. No good. My breath whooshed out of me.

Landon elbowed me. “I kind of want to cheer. Is that bad?”

I nodded as Allen lined up and tried again. “Yes, very bad.”

Though Landon seemed to be pretending that Trent wasn’t there, I could still sense him. His watchful eye vacillated between me and the other kickers.

Allen’s second attempt split the uprights, but his form was still lacking. He moved to the opposite hash and tried from there. He made one out of three kicks. The rest of his performance remained mediocre at best, and I found myself critiquing everything from his stance to his follow-through. My three days with Trent taught me more than I’d thought.

The next kicker was dismal, and several after that fared almost as badly as Allen. One of them did better, only missing two kicks until he got to the thirty-yard line where his accuracy tanked. Three more mediocre ones tried their best. Then one of the few remaining men ran out onto the field. He had a head full of bright red hair, and when he dashed into the sun to line up, it blazed copper.

“Wow. That hair is gorgeous.” I stared as he measured off his steps. He was a left-footed kicker. Rare.

Landon shrugged. “It’s okay.”

I smirked. “Please. If you saw a cute girl with hair like that, you’d be all over it.”

“So?”

“I prefer brunettes.” Trent broke his silence.

I glanced back, but his eyes remained fixed on the copper-headed kicker.

“Me too.” Landon shifted closer to me.

“Hawthorne, get set!” Coach Carver had warmed in the sun, his voice rising in pitch and irritation.

Hawthorne made his first field goal from the ten, then his second. Coach Carver shouted for him to change to the left hash. He walked over and lined up his shot. The first sailed through. The second veered hard left and missed by two feet or so. I felt relieved, though I knew it wasn’t a kind attitude on my part.

He backed up ten yards and made two of four kicks. At the thirty, something in his posture changed. He seemed to stand up straighter, as if his confidence increased with distance.

Trent stepped over the bench and stood beside me, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re next. Make sure you’re still warmed up.”

The redhead made two perfect kicks from the right hash, then moved to the left. I stood and walked a few steps away to go back over some of my stretches. I pulled my right heel up to my ass and held it there as Hawthorne sent another perfect kick between the uprights from the left hash of the thirty-yard line.

“Send him to the forty,” Coach Sterling called.

Coach Carver obeyed and set Hawthorne up on the right hash. I dropped my right leg and pulled on my left. Hawthorne got set and took his long steps to the ball. It flew off his foot, straight down the middle of the field.

“Holy shit, that kid’s good.” Landon glanced over at me, his gaze tracing the line of my body as I bent over and put my hands flat on the turf. “You’re flexible.”

Trent stepped around him and sat on the bench, blocking Landon’s view.

Another ball flew through the uprights from the forty-yard line. The few players who came to watch tryouts began talking amongst themselves, a slight buzz of excitement in the air.

Trent nodded and turned to me. “He’s our long-distance guy.”

Coach Carter pulled Hawthorne down the field and handed him a ball and pointed. The guy held the ball, ran, and kicked a perfect punt, the ball landing at the five-yard line and rolling one more yard closer to the end zone.

“He’s
definitely
our guy.”

“All right. Next!” Coach Sterling clapped his hand and motioned Hawthorne over to him.

“Come on.” Trent ran out onto the field as Coach Carver started to call another name.

“Whoa, Coach. Cordy’s ready to try.”

I followed him out into the sun. Roping my hair up into a tight ponytail, I tried to settle my nerves as I approached the ten-yard line. My hands went cold like they always did, and my stomach roiled, as if displeased with my choice of cereal for breakfast.

Coach Carver put a hand on his hip and glared at Trent. “It’s not her turn yet. I put her last since she’s already on the team.”

“She’s ready now.” Trent took a ball from the equipment bag and knelt at the ten.

“Come on, Coach.” I gave what I hoped was a winning smile. I didn’t know why Trent wanted me to go right then, but I suspected it had something to do with the redhead.

Coach waved his hand. “Fine, fine. Go ahead. You’re lucky I like you, Baxter.” He stepped back and took the same spot where he’d watched everyone else from. “Trent, we got a tee for that.”

He smiled. “I know. I just wanted to see if she could handle the real deal.”

Something about the way he said it pricked my pride. I stood tall, and walked to where he held the ball. “Try not to drop it.”

“Never have.” His eyes were warm despite his cocky tone. “You got this,” he whispered where only I could hear.

I know
.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
RENT

T
HE FEISTY LOOK IN
her eye was exactly what I wanted. Confidence was everything to a kicker, and just by the way she stood I could tell hers was where it needed to be.