Page 2 of I Want to Know What Love Is

"Glad to meet you, mate.” He takes my hand for a quick shake. “You must be Dylan Jones. Number 12.”

“And you are?” I feel several pairs of eyes on us now as guys file in, normally making the locker room boisterous. Now the room quiets to a purr.

“Your replacement.” He grins, hands on his hips, an unmistakable flash of arrogance and challenge in his eyes. Deep murmurs of surprise and grunts of distaste generate a nasty buzz around us.

Rage rises in me as sure as the sun and I don’t care if he sees me turn red, but I squash it down in the name of team unity. My team comes first. This fucker needs to be put in his place, but with finesse.

I smile, cooling the outrage to a manageable simmer, tamping down the need to compete to friendlier proportions. I have no doubt that I’ll out play Aussie-man in every way imaginable. His swagger is born of insecurity because he’s in a new country on a new team and he’s never faced the kind of competition we have in the states.

The game of champions in Australia is rugby. Their American football isn’t nearly as evolved, at about the pro-magna stage I’d guess.

“Someday,” I say, no malice in me, only mature confidence, the real kind without the swagger. “What was your name?”

His challenge deflates as he tries to maintain his grin, clearly prepared for a more confrontational response. I don’t know if he expected to fight me here in the locker room for the top QB spot, but I’ll see him out on the field. No sense in wasting stupid energy here. I look around at the guys who got in early, my buds Shelby Bertrand and Jasper Hightower. We’re all waiting for his answer.

“Randall Bane,” he says. “I’ll try not to embarrass you on the field.” He’s not smiling and he straightens as tall as he’ll go.

He is a tall fucker, I’ll give him that, though he’s about two inches short of my six foot seven. He’s bulkier than I am, but I’m just getting started with weight training this season after a minor injury. His nose is crooked but there’s no doubt his blue eyes, blond hair and strong jaw will attract the ladies. But none of this will win him football games.

“Welcome to the team, Randy.” I turn away from him, sweep my gaze across the guys still filing into the locker room and sit to dress. The team picks up on my cue that there’s nothing to see here. It’s time to get down to business They start preparations to take the practice field, applying icy hot patches, wrapping ace bandages and pulling on pads.

Randy’s still standing and says, “That’s it?”” He snorts and I glance up at him. He folds his arms. He’s got his pads on, but he’s missing a shirt.

“Finish dressing, kid. The rest will happen on the field,” I say as I continue dressing, not looking at him. Whatever other gestures or expressions he has for me are a waste of time.

The only thing little Randy has done is make this normally routine practice a hell of a lot more interesting. And he’s given me a handy outlet for my frustration.

He’s not trouble. He’s my target.

When I crash through the back door of the locker room to head to the practice field, the sunlight nearly blinds me. My co-captain Shelby jogs with me and a trail of players follow us. It’s a ritual. The team parade to practice. Shelby Bertrand is my running back and best friend. And the second most popular man on campus. The number one spot is reserved for yours truly.

“Cocky prick isn’t he,” Shelby says under his breath as we jog. I’m in shape, but the oppressive heat requires maximum reservation of energy, so I barely grunt.

Shel is the fastest running back in college football if you believe the hype. Which I do since I’ve seen it and we rely on him for a full twenty-five percent of the team’s offense. I ought to be carrying him onto the practice field.

“What the fuck’s with the new guy?” Jasper says, coming up on my right, my main man on the O-line, my blind side protector. He doesn’t talk under his breath. He doesn’t know how to be subtle. Everything about him is over-the-top. My first instinct is to shush him like my gramps would, but I know better.

“He’s in a new country halfway around the world from home and needs to prove himself. Cut him a break.” I mean my words.

“That what you’re going to do when we get on the field?” Shelby doesn’t expect an answer.

He knows me well, but I neither confirm nor deny as we reach the bench at the sidelines joining the equipment manager and his helpers, a crew of high school kids from the area. They’re probably the only ones excited to be out here in the blazing steamy heat today. Excitement glows on their young pink faces. I’m told it’s competitive to work for the St. Paul University Wildbeasts, mostly because we won the championship last year, but also because the kids are looking for their ten seconds of fame on TV.

I don’t remember being that young in high school. I’d have to reach back to the third grade to find myself with that kind of star-struck excitement.

The team assembles and before we break up for drills, Head Coach Mario Radzewicz, or Coach Radz as he’s known around campus, raises his arm and twirls it around to bring us into a tight circle, or as tight as it can get with fifty plus mostly over-sized guys.

“As you lug heads may have guessed, we have a new player. Meet your newest team mate Randall Bane, a QB from down under. He’s come a long way to join us and I expect you all to make him feel at home.” He turns to Randy and nods. “I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance for a more formal introduction, but I’m a fan of trial by fire. Today’s practice should give us all a chance to get to know each other.”

Randy nods and looks around, landing his eyes on mine.

“Welcome to the Wildbeasts,” I shout and raise a fist. My teammates follow with the familiar Beast grunt.

I smile at Bane, not bothering to hide the predatory nature of my pearly whites. The trouble that has the muscles bunched around my shoulder blades releases a notch. The phone calls from Mom and Dean Lassiter fade away in the glint of sunlight off Bane’s shiny new helmet. Giving him silent thanks, I let the steamy air and swirling clouds of weather and life disappear because I have a new perfect target to focus on. One I know how to defeat.

Chapter Two

Dylan