The Way We Dance by Katie Rae
7
Ty
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5…..”
We were spread out on the lines of the field doing warm-ups before practice. I was with my fellow tight ends on the thirty yard line looking into the eyes of the linebackers who were doing the same warm-ups.
Unless we scrimmaged, this was the only time the whole team did the same thing. Every morning we warmed up as a unit.
This was our dance.
A dance that we all knew the steps to and performed as a coordinated unit. The choreography was the same every morning and we synchronized ourselves so that if someone was looking on from afar, they would think it was rehearsed.
It was kind of therapeutic in a way. Warm-ups were the only thing during our day that we could predict. No one got hurt, no punches were thrown, no coaches were yelling, and the heat of the day had yet to peak.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as we started our count again and moved on to the next warm-up. I was doing my 7th jumping-jack when Duncan Rhodes, one of our backup linebackers, interrupted the count.
"Daaaaaamn, girl," I opened my eyes and he was staring off to the side of the field. "Honey honey just stepped out of the car. Who the fuck is that?"
The few of us that heard him turned our heads and looked at a woman standing next to a town car. Dave was jogging toward her, waving his arms to get her attention. Lucky Dave.
Duncan was right, Daaaamn. Only she was not a girl, she was a fucking woman. From where I was, I couldn't see her very well, but that suit made me feel shit. Just like when I saw Miss Priss in her tutu, I was stirring below my belt.
Who knew I would have a sudden penchant for women in clothes? I was usually the kind of guy that found them sexier out of their clothes. Turns out I was into a power suit, because I got lured in just enough to get uncoordinated with the rest of the team.
"Black," one of the coaches yelled. "Get back in step."
I did without any issues, but I kept my eyes turned toward the woman talking to Dave. He was waving his arms around as if he was Vanna White showing the prize pack for the night. I was briefly more curious about who would wear that suit out here and give a shit about the ongoings of camp. So much so that Dave was assigned to her side.
Not that Dave was a big wig, but he was Coach's right hand man and Coach didn't do well without him being at his beck and call. So what was so important? Who was so important?
I took my eyes off the woman and got back into a full force motion for my warm-up. The last thing I needed to do was have something or someone else distracting me from football. The media showed up to our afternoon scrimmage and I needed to make sure I was on my game this morning so I didn't have to deal with their bullshit chit chat later.
Warmups, position drills, and touch-n-go's were all I needed to worry about until our scrimmage later. I closed my eyes, trying to repeat that in my head, trying to focus and visualize. Not sure if that would work but some guys did it and it beat the shit out of ballet lessons with Miss Priss. If I could get right, I could talk Coach into quitting my extracurricular activities.
"Stop." Whistles blew and Coach's voice came in from the sideline. He was waving his arms and all the coaches were mimicking him to get us to gather around. Not only did he interrupt our dance, but he was interrupting our routine.
The new woman was standing beside him, her sunglasses on and her long dark hair was wavy around her shoulders. Her face was grim and for a second, I thought maybe someone died and she was the person sent to dismantle the team.
I got as close as I could but considering there were a hundred of us in camp, it was quite a crowd. The guys in the front started to kneel and when the ones right in front of me knelt, I had the perfect view.
"Guys, gonna do things a little different this morning. Instead of touch-n-go's, I want you in individual drills for the next hour. However, I want the tight ends with the quarterbacks."
The fuck?
I looked over to our quarterback, Cam Nichols, who was standing on the edge of the group. He looked just as confused as I was so whatever was up Coach's sleeve was news to us all.
"I want to introduce you to Giselle Metrovik," Coach started. My eyes shot wide and I looked back at the woman. There was no way that was Giselle. Not my Giselle. Not Miss Priss. Not Miss Sprints Through the Park at 10 pm every night.
Wait, my Giselle?
She took off her sunglasses and those eyes looked around the group of players before her. She gave a tight smile and waited for Coach to keep talking.
"She is a special consultant and will be here for a few hours. She will be taking a look at you all and trying to figure out where you are lacking."
I snorted and shook my head, catching the attention of everyone, including Giselle and Coach.
"Problem, Black?" Coach asked.
He knew what the fucking problem was. I guess I should have been thankful he referred to her as a consultant and not my ballet teacher, but this was so messed up.
"Nope," I popped and put my hands on my hips. Coach kept his eyes on me, silently daring me to say something so he could change his plans on the spot but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Besides, maybe he wanted her here to watch the other guys. Maybe he wanted me to have classmates in my ballet lessons.
"Ok then, Nichols, Black, you two head to field 3." I looked over to Cam who shrugged and started walking. All of our morning practices were non-contact so there was no need for pads and helmets. We wore shorts and our jerseys and that was it. So when Coach said go to field three, I had nothing else to grab or do but start walking behind Cam.
"What the fuck is going on?" I asked Cam from behind. He shrugged again and kept walking.
Easy for him to say, he wasn’t struggling at all. He was kicking ass like he always did. No one ever got on his case about how shitty his playing was so he didn't have a care in the damn world.
I looked back and saw the rest of the guys being distributed into groups between the four fields we had here at the training complex. It was no surprise, but Dave was escorting Giselle to field three.
"Heads up," Cam yelled and a ball flew my way. I caught it and threw it back, helping him warm his arm up while we waited on the coaches—and apparently Miss Priss—to join us.
Lawrence Anders, another tight end, jogged up and started throwing with us while watching Giselle and Coach walk our way. He didn't say anything, but he was thinking what the rest of the guys were thinking. That the new consultant was unbelievably gorgeous.
Shit, even as uptight as she was, there was no denying Giselle's appeal. Add her long dark waves being out of her normal bun, the power suit, and sunglasses, and I was surprised she didn't have a line of guys following her like baby ducks.
Something about the thought of them giving her any attention didn't sit right with me. Giselle wasn’t mine, even though I had just referred to her as such. Nor would she ever be.
Nor did I want her to be.
But I felt some sort of claim over her because I saw her first. She was my dance instructor and even though I would rather die than let these guys know I was taking ballet, I didn't want them giving her any nods either.
So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I found myself next to Lawrence, who still had his tongue hanging out, and pushed him hard enough he almost fell to the ground.
"What the fuck?" He yelled and had Cam running to get in between us.
"Pay attention," I deflected.
"I was, motherfucker."
"Hey, hey hey….." Cam was trying to interject and keep us separated.
"No, you had your eye over there," I nodded toward Coach and Giselle. Coach was now running to us, leaving Giselle to slowly walk with Dave.
"What's it to you?" Lawrence yelled louder, getting angrier.
"It matters because we needed your head over here," I shot hands between Cam and I, indicating Lawrence should have been focusing on us.
"Are you fucking ki…."
"Hey," Coach yelled as he approached. He was in exceptional shape, so his little jog hadn't winded him or even made him break a sweat. "What the hell is happening over here?”
Lawrence backed up since Coach was there and jutted his chin at me. "Black’s pushing people like we are on the playground, Coach. Telling me to focus on a game of catch. Pretty big coming from the same motherfucker that can't catch a pass to save his damn life."
"Oh you wanna go there?" I started charging Lawrence again but Coach put himself in between us this time as Cam grabbed Lawrence from behind. His arms were around his shoulders and he was saying something to him to calm him down.
“Enough!" Coach yelled, throwing his hat on the ground. "We aren't starting our day off going at each other, get your shit together now. Or I will send you home."
No one wanted to go home. This was camp. No one went home during camp. Most of the guys didn't leave the complex for anything. No one knew that I was leaving at 8:00 every night and coming back at 10:30. By then, most of the guys were passed out from a hard day's practice and they all thought I was one of them.
Instead, Coach had me driving my ass into the city for ballet lessons. Which now that I was thinking about it, maybe that was why I was frustrated. It wasn’t that he was looking at Giselle, it was that I was so fucking tired. I didn't get the rest that the others got. I hadn’t earned that right by having a good practice. While they were all eating and sleeping like babies at the end of the day, I was doing ballet.
Rage burned in my ears as I slowly realized that all I really needed was a fucking nap.
I backed off of Lawrence and threw my hands up. It wasn’t his fault I was in the position I was in and shoving a teammate wasn’t exactly setting myself up for a good day.
However, when Giselle approached and Lawrence smiled his smarmy lips at her, nodding and raising his brows, I started to lunge myself at him again. It was like I couldn't even stop myself.
Thankfully, Cam was standing next to me and grabbed my arm, realizing what I was about to do. "Get down the field, Black, the ball is headed your way."
Cam grabbed a football off the grass and tapped it, showing me he was about to air one down the field. I looked to Coach and then Giselle, who was watching me intently, waiting to see what I did.
I started running, ready to show them all that I could catch anything, anytime, anywhere. But when Cam called a signal, one that told me I needed to stop on the 40 yard line and turn to my right, I got my feet wrapped up and ended up with a ball ricocheting against my right shoulder.
"Damnit," I yelled, wanting to blame the mistake on my laces or something, while also rubbing the sting in my shoulder.
"Black," Coach yelled. "I want you taking passes from Nichols nonstop."
I shook my head but only at myself. Getting passes from our number one quarterback wasn’t a bad deal, but knowing it was because I had fucked up stung worse than my shoulder.
I jogged back down to stand beside Cam while the other quarterbacks and tight ends teamed up for passes of their own. Giselle was standing at the 50 yard line, her hands on her hips, and her head looking at everyone but me. It made me feel better that she was watching everyone, but I still wanted to talk to Coach.
"Coach can I talk to you?" I waved him over and gave Cam a look that asked for some privacy. Cam, being the classy guy he was, didn't even bat an eye and walked away as Coach approached.
"What's up, Black?"
"What is she doing here?" I asked with a little attitude.
"I told you she is consulting," he snapped back.
"I don't want her here," even I could tell I sounded like a fucking baby and I cringed at my own words.
"Well that isn't up to you. The only reason I haven’t already sent you to the showers this morning is so she can watch you work for a bit. The only reason I am even entertaining this conversation is because I know asking you to do ballet was a little messed up. But I do what I want and what is best for the team, not what is best for Tyson Black. So you can suck it up and play catch with Nichols, or you can sit on the bench for our first preseason game in two weeks."
With that, he turned around and casually walked off like he hadn't just put me in my place. I was an idiot for even bringing it up because he was right, he called the shots. If I wanted to play, I would play by his rules. And because my game sucked, I didn't have much room to complain.
I bit my lip and looked back to Giselle who was tapping on an iPad that she most likely pulled out of the bag she carried. She was asking Dave a few questions and he was pointing to people that weren't me.
After a minute, she must have sensed me staring because she turned her head and looked directly at me. I was the only one standing near where I was and there was no one else she could have been looking at. I held her gaze, squinting a little to show my anger, and waited for her to get intimated and look away.
She didn't.
She held my eyes while resting the iPad on her hip. She cocked her head to one side, almost a taunt, and lifted one side of her mouth in a half smile. Miss Priss knew her presence was getting to me and she was somehow finding enjoyment from it. I hadn't seen her like this before.
Granted, I didn't know her well enough to assume she was always so cold, but her personality was frigid when we were in her studio. That power suit must have been doing more for her than it was for me. She was feeling herself and finding a little fun in my agony.
I bit my lip and winked at her, doing a little taunting of my own. I slid my tongue out over my bottom lip and then across my teeth, causing her to turn a little pink. She didn't turn her head, but Cam called me and interrupted our little dance. I turned to my quarterback and team captain, giving him my attention and respect.
"Go long," he said with a smirk and I figured he saw the show Giselle and I had been giving. I didn't allow myself to dwell on it, I just took off in a sprint and listened for Cam to make a call.
When he yelled the play, I knew I needed to go left and turn at the 30 yard line, so I did and thanked the heavens above that the ball flew right into my gut—an easy catch. You'd have thought I had just put the eight ball in the corner pocket though, with the way I swaggered back to Cam, gently tossing him the ball.
Giselle had her head back in her iPad when I peaked over but I imagined her taking notes on me: "Superb catch. He is a master of his craft and quite capable of returning to his star form without my help."