Page 33 of Better Than Revenge
“You don’t want to actually talk or get to know each other at all. Got it,” I said.
He sighed, like he’d run out of patience for me. This was going to be a long four weeks. “What do you want to know? That I got hit so hard in practice that I lost my college offer and that I’m trying to figure out what my future looks like without football?”
My breath caught in my throat, and his gaze went to the ground as if he immediately regretted saying that. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought podcasting was my future, so I get it.”
“And it’s not anymore?”
“It will be harder,” I said. “What about you? You don’t think football can be your future anymore?”
“It will be harder,” he mimicked.
“In the meantime, you’ll help me with revenge?” I asked.
“Yeeesss,” he said on an exaggerated sigh as if I was finally coming around tohisplan instead of him being part of mine.
“Okay, okay, let’s get started,” I said, squaring my shoulders and facing the ball.
Chapter
eleven
“AM I GETTING WORSE?” Iasked after a kick landed me on my butt. I was ready to sayNever mind, this was a bad idea.My face felt hot, and I knew it was probably red. “I feel worse.”
“Surprisingly, no,” Theo said. “You’re getting the motion down. You don’t have the right shoes either, so there’s that. Bring your soccer cleats tomorrow; they’ll help with traction.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked, standing and wiping the grass off my hands and backside.
“Well, whenever you come next.”
“Tomorrow will work.” Between school and homework and responsibilities at home, really, we probably only had weekends. And there weren’t very many of those left, so he was right, I needed to come tomorrow.
“Weights time.” He led me back to the house, where I assumed a weight system must’ve been set up in the garage.
But it was more than that. Way more. He basically had a gym.And not in his garage either. A dedicated room in the house. Mirrored walls, a stationary bike and elliptical, free weights but also machines with ropes and pulleys. A punching bag hung from the ceiling in the corner.
I hit the punching bag as I took a lap around the gym. “This is better equipped than the school weight room. Must be nice.” I added that last sentence under my breath.
“It is,” he answered. And I wasn’t sure if that was a response to my first sentence or my second. I didn’t ask him to clarify. “How often do you lift?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. “I used to lift a lot.”
“I didn’t ask how much you used to lift.”
“I know! But that was the better answer.”
He laughed. “So never?”
“Pretty much.”
He gave a single nod. “Legs every other day until tryouts.”
I widened my eyes. “Are you trying to give me Hulk legs?”
“You won’t get Hulk legs.”
“Have you been waiting all your life for the opportunity to torture someone? Is that why you agreed to this? Is that why you have a little gleam in your eye right now?”
He didn’t deny it. “Grab that squat bar off the wall.”