That’d been why I went first.
By the time I was running down the other side all the way across the stands, nobody was in sight of me.
Nobody but one particular guy staring me down from across the field.
Which, of course, was when I tripped.
I cursed and pushed myself up, moaning when I saw the blood dripping down the length of my shin.
When I next looked up, it was to see Banner standing at the gate holding out a set of towels.
“Here,” he said.
I took them, pressing it against the blood.
When he went to hop over the partition that separated the bleachers from the fence, I nearly swallowed my tongue.
“No, I’m fine,” I said as I waved him off. “Thanks for the towel.”
Then I started to run again, tossing the bloody towel into the trash on my way.
The next time I came down the opposite end, I firmly kept my eyes in front of me.
Which made me quite sad seeing as Banner in all his shirtless glory was a sight to be seen.
***
“Here you go,” the trainer said, handing me a couple of big Band-Aids.
“Thank you,” I murmured, taking them from her.
She handed me a stack of paper towels that were slightly damp and sent me on my way.
I surreptitiously ignored one man that was so close that I could almost reach out and touch him, instead keeping my eyes on the others of my team.
When I got there, I plopped myself down and groaned into my hands.
Blue laughed.
I looked out over the field again, seeing Banner rearing back to throw the football, and nearly swallowed my tongue.
“So my mom and everybody were talking the other day,” I said, panting lightly. “About sweatpants season. And although logically I knew what they were talking about, I just didn’t ‘get it.’ You know?”
“Dear sweet baby Jesus,” Tempy breathed.
“Dude,” Blue breathed. “That’s… when did they start wearing sweatpants to football practice?”
Not all of them were wearing sweatpants.
Today was a no-pad day, and it was on the nippy side.
Whereas most of the boys had decided just to do the t-shirt and normal black knit shorts, there were a select few that’d forgone them for a pair of sweats that said ‘Kilgore Bulldogs’ on the right thigh.
And, of course, at one point they’d lost their shirts because they got too hot.
It was nippy out here, but not nippy enough to warrant sweatpants and a shirt.
Still.
I couldn’t find it in myself to be upset about this development.
Especially since it looked like they were now my own personal wet dream.
Well, one of them in particular.
Mr. ‘I have a staring problem’ was my drink of choice.
“I just…” I licked my lips. “Holy shit.”
Banner was in gray sweatpants that hugged his bottom half like a glove in all the right places.
Tight on his ass, clingy at the thighs, and definitely snug around his pubic area.
And they were a little loose on his waist, making it to where they hung slightly down, revealing the deep V of his abs that led to his pubic region.
And holy abs, Batman. Banner was ripped.
I’m talking, I can count every single ab and indention in his entire body, ripped.
He wasn’t built like a normal teenager.
There was no long lankiness to his limbs. He was hard muscle, big, and stout.
Absolutely perfect.
And his black hair was falling into his eyes, making me want to slick it back with my hands and then kiss the hell out of him.
Even his shoes looked good on him.
“Titus is looking just as fine in his sweatpants,” Blue breathed. “I wish he didn’t make me hate him when he opened his mouth.”
I snickered and ripped into the Band-Aids after I wiped all the blood off of my shin.
Once they were in place, I crumbled the paper into a ball and stood up just in time to come face to face with Symphony.
“What are y’all looking at?”
The acid words from the head cheerleader had us all turning to look in their direction.
I reached around her and threw my balled-up trash into the bin behind her.
“We’re looking at the field, Candace,” Blue said. “Actually, I take that back. We’re staring at the men in the sweatpants. What’s it to you?”
“What’s it to us?” Symphony snorted, giving Blue a disgusted look. “It’s just embarrassing, that’s all. I mean, you just sit there and look at our guys and expect us to be okay with it? No. That’s not how life works.”
I looked at Symphony skeptically.
“Unless you work incredibly fast,” I said sarcastically, “the one I’m looking at isn’t one of yours.”
Honestly, none of the ones we were looking at were theirs.
There was Graham and Tatum. Slone and Titus. Abbott. And then the new one, Banner.
“And, correct me if I’m wrong,” Flo said, “but you were the one that got told to go away today. So if anyone has a right to look at them, it’s the ones they allowed to sit at the table with them.”
“Listen, Floyd,” Symphony said, drawing her name out as if it was a dirty secret and not actually her name. “They’re ours. End of story.”
The girls behind Symphony, all of which hadn’t said a word, nodded their heads as if what she said was the gospel.
“Whatever you say,” Flo said. “Whatever you say.”
Symphony’s eyes narrowed on us, and me in particular.
Why was it always me that she focused on?
“You couldn’t get them to pay attention to you even if you tried.”
I snorted. “I could if I wanted to.”
“Then prove it,” Symphony ordered. “Lunch is one thing. Going out on a date is another.”
I nearly rolled my eyes.
“What do I get if I get him to agree to a date?” I asked curiously.
Symphony snorted. “The pleasure of knowing you were right, and I was wrong?”
I shrugged. “I already know that. There’s nothing in it for me if I do this.”
Symphony didn’t answer.
It was Candace that said, “Your mother sure does hate it when we’re mean to her. Maybe
