I was about one more hit away from puking. The turf was about 10 degrees hotter than the actual temperature outside, and if I didn't get myself up, there was a serious possibility I'd just melt into the ground.

"Gunther!" A grating voice cut through the hot, sticky August air, and the sound itself pulled me right back up to my feet.

Coach Knox was from Louisiana, but not the proper southern New Orleans kind of Louisiana. Coach Knox might as well have stepped right out of The Waterboy and into Fairfield County. Nobody moves 1500 miles unless it's for money and trophies, but after three years at New Livingston Day School, Coach Knox had it all.

"You have a good time last night, son?" he asked as he clamped a hand down on my shoulder.

"Yes sir, I did," I gave him a weary nod. "I mean, you know...at home, in my room...doing my summer reading."

Thankfully this morning's practice called for partial pads, otherwise the way Coach Knox was gripping onto my shoulder might have bruised me.

"You're lucky the scouts we had coming today are only coming to second practice, cause you're playing like the god damn village idiot, boy."

The scent of the minty gum he was always chomping on washed over me, and it made my head spin.

"Yes sir," I nodded again. He slapped the top of my helmet endearingly and sent me back out to the field.

I grabbed water from one of the trainers and squeezed the bottle into my helmet and missed most of my mouth, but the cool rush of water down my jersey felt good against my burning skin.

When I huddled the offense for another play, I could swear I was getting drunk off the pure smell of liquor on everyone's breath.

"Listen," I hissed out. "I need 30 more fucking minutes from you guys, okay? That's it."

A collective groan came from the huddle, followed by a few absentminded nods.

I chewed on my mouth guard. "We're gonna run a jet sweep. Eight yard curl to the sideline. I'm gonna throw the damn ball, and so help me god somebody better catch it, or I am going to break into your house while you're sleeping and shave your eyebrows. Got it?"

Another collective moan/nod combo came from the huddle, and we broke. We lined up at the 20 yard line, and even though we were only going against our second-string defense, I tasted the red zone like I tasted the blood on the inside of my mouth.

Everything in my life came easy to me. I did well in school without really having to study. I made friends and got girls without trying. I'd taken the phrase work smart not hard and made it a pillar of my entire existence. But most importantly, I'd engineered myself to be so good at football, it came easier to me than breathing.

Call the cadence. Motion. Drop back two yards. Avoid the rush. Stay in the pocket. Receivers still in coverage. Run. Run. Run.

I tucked the football underneath my arm and shouldered my way through a tiny hole in the defensive line before rushing into open field. 15 yard line. 10 yard line. 5 yard line. Goal line.

The moment I caught sight of our logo painted black on the turf in the end zone, I dropped to my knees and dry heaved.

Everything in my life came easy to me. But football? Football made me me, and I wore the crown like it was simply another part of my head.

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The seniors on the team got locker room sauna privileges before anyone else, and a group of us sat huddled in there trying to sweat out the rest of the beer and vodka from last night before having to drag ourselves back onto the field in an hour.

I sat in a towel hunched over on the wooden benches attached to the walls of the sauna. It was part of the $500,000 expansion the school made for the athletic facilities. Which meant, for us.

"I think there's still vodka and Red Bull in my system," Chris groaned as he sprawled across the bench across the room. "I'm never drinking Svedka again. What the hell is wrong with you?"

He directed his last comment to Anthony, who leaned against the wall in the corner and rubbed at his sweat-soaked face. "You'll need to be more specific."

I snickered.

"Why on this good green earth did you feel compelled to buy Svedka? What happened to the Gray Goose?"

"Don't be such a little bitch." Anthony gave a casual wave of his hand. "In the end, you being shitfaced is entirely of your own doing."

Chris gave me a sideways glare from across the sauna room. "Yeah, well Nina left with that douchebag from the soccer team. What was I supposed to do? Find a tub of ice cream and cry?"

"You could have fucked somebody else." Anthony replied. "I would have guaranteed that there were at least five girls at that party that would have hooked up with you. Stop living in your little self-imposed bubble."

Chris put his hands over his face and mumbled something incoherent.

"Speaking of," Anthony turned to me. "Where was your regularly scheduled booty call last night?"

I worked my jaw at Anthony's mention of Jordyn. On the outside Anthony was the most stereotypical jock I knew, but he wasn't stupid, and the things he didn't say sometimes held more weight than what he did say. As a middle linebacker and captain of the defense, Anthony and I rarely competed for anything football related. We were never even on the field at the same time.

But some things went deeper than football, and Anthony's resentment of me was tangible in the air, like the steam as it curled around our heads and shoulders.

"The Hamptons," I replied with a casual shrug. I didn't owe him any more information than that.

"You gonna be done hogging her any time soon?" Anthony nudged me in the ankle with his foot.

I scoffed, inadvertently scooting away from him. "She's not a fucking toy, Ant."

Maybe it was the heat from the sauna, but my blood was starting to boil. Anthony made a gesture at Chris, silently nagging him to take a side. As usual, Chris came to my rescue. Another thing I'd sorely miss.

"I mean, Dallas is kinda right," he shrugged. A tiny grin pulled at his mouth. "Besides, he's the only dick Jordyn is interested in."

Anthony groaned. "That's a double entendre if I've ever heard one."

"Look, can we stop overanalyzing who I sleep with?" I finally shut the steam in the sauna off, desperate for fresh air. "Regardless, our little summer fling is just that - a summer fling. I'm not really trying to take baggage like a relationship into senior year."

It was Chris's turn to scoff. "Does she know that?"

"Obviously," I insisted.

All the red in my cheeks from the heat in the sauna covered up the lie that painted itself across my face. Chris shook his head at me before closing his eyes and putting a towel over his face.

I took the hint from Chris and tried to relax, closing my eyes and leaning back into the sticky walls of the sauna. Something intangible kept me tethered to Jordyn. Something I didn't have the nerve to sever. Whatever so-called relationship Jordyn and I had was like a little string that kept the fabric of our social status quo intact. Transitions of power happened when a regime fell, and if the King and Queen were no more, could they still hold the titles?

As soon as it felt like we had all finally cooled down, we had to suit back up and venture out onto the football field. Out of the corner of my eye, a small group of men in khakis and different colored polo shirts sat in the bleachers - 10 rows up, aligned with the 50 yard line. That exact spot gave scouts the most thorough view of the field as a whole.

With no Clemson orange in sight, I didn't pay them any mind. I took a deep inhale and did what I did best - embarrass a defense. Maybe my resentment towards Anthony was still running hot, and came out in more force than I intended. I called plays purposely meant to embarrass him. I threw passes over his head and juked out guys on the defensive line. I took the term dual threat to another level. Nothing like a vendetta against my defensive captain to take my game all the way to the sun.

After practice, I was ready to collapse in my room, smoke a well-deserved blunt, and sleep until the fair tonight, but Knox waved me over, and I had to oblige. He was flanked by two men in navy blue shirts and hats, and as I got closer, the glaring orange of the Auburn University logo stuck out.

"The King of Connecticut himself." One of the scouts stuck his hand out to me, the other tucking an iPad under his arm. I shook it and hoped I wasn't as sweaty as I felt. "Dane Claypool, quarterbacks coach for Auburn University. You're even more impressive in person."

"That's a new one. I'm flattered," I replied with a chuckle. It wasn't a new one - King of Connecticut was scribbled all over my scouting report, since I was statistically the best quarterback in the state of Connecticut, but if I'd learned one thing about scouting, it was all about the schmoozing. Let the scouts think they're the only ones that have just dug up the diamonds.

"Dallas is the smartest quarterback I've ever coached." Knox slung his arm around my shoulder pads and gave my already unruly head of hair a shake.

The other coach slipped off his sunglasses, and I instantly recognized him as Auburn's offensive coordinator. The second most important thing I learned about scouting - high up assistants only made scouting trips when they were seriously interested in someone.

"So, should we believe all the hype then?" he asked.

Nothing like getting straight to the point, but I played along. The sun beat down on the back of my neck, and I felt sweat trickle down my back.

"The hype about what?" I asked, trying to keep a smirk from pulling at my lips.

"The hype about you."

I let out a heavy exhale and rolled my shoulders back. "No," I shook my head. "Don't believe the hype. You see, hype implies something that's exaggerated or not real. I'm all real."

they love to talk
me, i'm just done in the hype

hype / drake

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So obviously there's some things that need to be addressed for this chapter -

Locker room talk. I want people reading this story to understand the difference between romanticizing bad behaviors and simply portraying certain things as realistic. Because as much as WE DO NOT CONDONE THIS, it would also be wildly unrealistic to make 17 year old boys well-behaved saints that never say or do anything offensive. Yes it's 2021, and not ALL guys are shitheads, but some are.

All that aside, I love Dallas, and I FUCKING. LOVE. FOOTBALL. I'm clearly going through some kind of withdrawal now that the season's over which maybe explains my intense commitment to this project currently. That and some other ~secret~ things going on.

What are your thoughts so far? Any predictions on what's to come? Only one more chapter until Summer is over!

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