Quarterback Scramble by M L Chambers

Author:M L Chambers [Chambers, M L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M L Chambers
Published: 2023-03-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter twelve

Warren roamed the freshly placed turf of the Mountaineers’ practice field. High above, birds pecked and nested on the domed glass roof. The air was warm, sunlight ricocheting across lines and field goals like strobes scattering off a disco ball. Massive whipping fans attempted to suppress the swelling temperatures, but stirred the heat rather than cooled, creating alternating waves of warm and hot air.

The expansive Mountaineers’ campus consisted of a massive office building cradling the indoor-outdoor practice field and a gloriously brutal open-air stadium next door.

They called it The Peak

Warren should be stretching, warming up, getting loose.

He wasn’t.

He was thinking of Victoria.

Even as he did everything to not think of her, he thought of her. He let his hands fall to his sides, tighten, knuckles throbbing, joints stiff and brittle. Pain pinched at the lack of blood, hands shading yellow. Soreness coated him, sweat lathering overworked skin. He shook his head when offered a water bottle.

He had to hide it, shield the lethargy lacerating his bones, the pants waiting in his chest. If Victoria saw…

It was normal during training camp to suffer. High stakes and endless practices during the hottest time of the year were a fucking awful combination. And he was getting older. The drills wore him down, made his joints stiff and his back burn.

He blew air from his nose, trying to calm, trying to bury the fact that he wasn’t as young, as limber, as desirable as Doyle Heark.

Warren wondered how Victoria would look with the glazed sun dancing on her skin, if she’d wish to go outside, open the dome. Let the fresh mountain air fill her lungs.

He missed her.

Missed her like a phantom limb as he crossed the thirty yard line. Training camp was a blur around him. Linebackers rushed in twos, receivers sprinted new routes downfield, a trio of punters compared drop holds in front of a narrow net. Focus and dedication and a thick layer of desperation made the air brittle with nervous energy. All wearing Mountaineer green, they wanted to keep wearing it. To join the team, to stand out and stay.

To hide flaws.

A dozen notes should dominate his thoughts. Reminders to stay loose, play call names, the tick of a countdown clock. He should watch the running backs practice handoffs, talk to the snapper about speed and height. Find the O-line and discuss pocket protection, covering his blind side.

Instead, Warren felt the ghost of Victoria's hand in his hair, the clench of her pussy around his fingers. He planned and re-planned what he’d do to her next, how he’d take her mouth, her body. Spread across the kitchen counter, crowded in the shower stall, from behind, gentle under fresh sheets and the white summer moon.

Six months, she’d waited.

He’d waited three years. Nothing felt right without her wry smile, the dry comments she managed with charm, his damn derogatory nickname.

Even the magnificent Mountaineers facilities—brand new, sparkling with innovation—seemed bland and lackluster.

She’d left late last night, skirt half-zipped, buttons barely together, backing out his door, rushing out excuses.

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