Page 29 of The Cheerleader

“Never mind. I know it’s your ridiculous training regimen that’s saving you from heat stroke right now.” I notice the admiration in his voice and nod.

“Could be.” More likely it’s the ridiculous farm work regimen that does it, but the less said about the farm, the better.

He laughs. A whistle blows down at the end of the field. The cheerleaders are sitting on the grass in the shade and then slowly rising to their feet. My eyes automatically find Liz, which isn’t hard since she’s the one with the whistle.

My gaze turns to Susie, and I watch her stretch her long limbs like she’s a ballerina. Those short shorts she’s wearing don’t cover much.

Al nudges my arm. “Not bad. Who’s the new girl, the tall one with the long dark hair?”

He asks me like I should know—which I do because he’s looking at Susie. And why wouldn’t he be? She’s easily the prettiest girl on the squad.

“How would I know?”

He laughs. “You want to play it cool? That’s fine. It’s not like I’m doing more than looking myself.” He raises his left hand and wiggles his fingers. “Got married over the summer.” He grins like he’s happy.

For once, I don’t bother hiding my reaction as my eyes widen in surprise. I blow out a whistle. “That beats the hell out of my summer. Congratulations—I guess.”

He shakes his head, smirking.

“No wonder you’ve been in a good mood. You’re a fucking newlywed.”

He gives me the finger. “You’re lucky I like you, Granger.”

“Liar.”

He chuckles. “Let’s get you inside and take care of those ribs.”

Trying hard not to grimace, I follow him across the turf back to the fieldhouse. It aggravates me that he knows my ribs need attention. I head first to the locker room and shed my practice pads fast. I drop the sweat-soaked uniform and pads at the cage with the equipment manager and make it into the training room ahead of everyone except Eldy.

He jumps into the whirlpool tub and closes his eyes like he’s going to take a nap. I don’t get why he likes it. The big metal tub is about as comfortable as a watering trough—and looks a lot like one—and the hot churning water offers no relief on a steamy day.

Al has me lift my arms, and I manage not to flinch as he taps my ribs. He shakes his head as he examines the large dark purple bruise on my left side.

“Let’s get some ice on that.” He goes to the chest freezer and pulls out a couple of packs of ice and proceeds to ace bandage them against my ribs with no concern for how fucking cold they are next to my skin.

“Shouldn’t we put a towel under the ice so I don’t end up with frostbite?” I say in between my gritted teeth.

“Sure, but if you ask me, what you really need is an X-ray because I think one or two of these ribs could be fractured.”

“He’s right, you know,” Eldy pipes up.

“What good is an X-ray?” I say under my breath. “It’s not going to magically cure a cracked rib.” That comment shuts down the conversation, and Al removes the ice and puts a layer of gauze against my skin before replacing the ice and bandaging my rib cage.

I glance at the door to the locker room across the hall to make sure no one’s paying attention. They’re not. They all have their own bumps and bruises and worse to deal with.

There’s not a single fucking guy in the locker room who doesn’t have something wrong. Not even the field goal kicker is exempt from injury. I bet he’s sorry he came over from the soccer team to try out. Because I’m a mean bastard—I get that from my dad too—I grin on the inside.

Eldy gets away with parking his new Cutlass Supreme coupe right out front of the field house in a spot that’s supposed to be reserved for coaches. Shaking my head, I’d say I don’t know how he gets away with it, but he’s the QB, and even though UConn’s football program isn’t much in the scheme of things, Coach Torino, who has more ambition than sense, likes him.

“I ride shotgun.” It should be unnecessary to stake my claim every time, but Mack, and especially Chuck Wayne, need the reminder to cool their competitive asses.

Chuck Wayne and Mack Delaney, our third and fourth roommates, get stuck sitting in the back of Eldy’s car.

“New ride?” Chuck says. “I dig it.” He runs his hand over the white leather passenger seat as he pushes it forward and climbs in the back.

“Hey, watch the fingerprints,” Eldy says with irritation in his voice.

“Don’t blame him for your stupidity,” I say. “Who gets white seats with a red dashboard?”