A proud smirk stretched my lips. “We’re looking for the drummers who can take it all the way to the end zone.”
“Damn straight!” The hoot came from Bubba, the only returning senior besides Marco and myself.
I nodded at him and the other veterans grouped together in the corner, knowing they understood exactly what I meant.
We were the main attraction that drew the crowds. Yeah, okay, they were there to watch some pretty fucking intense football too, but at Rodner, no one left their seats at halftime until we were done. Only then would they swarm the overpriced concessions for BBQ nachos and slushies.
We ran the show all right, on and off the field. And making the line meant surviving not just auditions, but drumline hazing.
These NADs—our purposefully raunchy nickname for the Newly Acquired Drummers—had no idea what they were getting themselves into. Hours of practice. Mandatory parties. Stupid pranks. Dumb objectives to achieve and tight deadlines to reach them in. It’s how we bonded, learned to read each other’s movements and play perfectly in sync.
But first things first. Weeding out the weak and pathetic. The bottom-feeders.
Because snare line was the very top of the food chain.
“To start with this morning, we have a five-mile jog. This one’s pretty straight forward. You’ll have backpacks with twenty-five pounds of sand bags inside, which you’ll wear on your chests to mimic the weight of the snare. You have an hour to complete the laps around the track in the heat, or you’re out. Later today, we’ll move onto stick work, some sight-reading, and begin going through the first song of the show.” I ticked off the rules. “Stay hydrated. Don’t bitch. Help each other out. If a vet asks you to do something, do it. Don’t ask questions. All the vets are wearing red shirts to make it easy on you idiots. If you’re asked to leave, exit without making a scene. Most of you will be gone in the next two weeks and that’s just reality. No need to throw a fucking tantrum like a girl.”
After the last sentence left my mouth, I froze, my eyes automatically sliding to Reese.
Okay, yeah, poor word choice there. Reese’s face twisted like she’d just tasted something sour and she looked… was that disappointment she was aiming my way? A wedge of discomfort poked at my ribs and I found myself wanting to say something more, to fix my gaffe, but I held my tongue.
The captain didn’t cater to anyone, least of all a NAD. In fact, the only special treatment they got was to work longer and harder to earn that field spot.
But, damn, if I didn’t want to erase that look in her eyes. Replace it with something else. Something hotter. I bet she looked incredible when she was aroused. Those lips swollen and slightly parted, wet from earlier kisses. Eyes dilated and half closed. A flush painting those high cheekbones. Pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Dark hair mussed from where my hands had been buried—wait a second.
My hands?
I forced my gaze to the toes of my Nike’s, where the rubber on the right one was starting to curl away from the leather, and counted to ten to calm myself down, but couldn’t stop my eyes from seeking hers out again. This time, amusement brightened her gaze and, fuck, if she didn’t have a dimple on one side where her lip had pulled up in a smirk, as if she knew what I was thinking and found it laughable.
I wanted to lick it, that dimple.
“Be trackside in twenty minutes to suit up and check in,” I barked. “Grab a folder with the paperwork and release forms, fill that shit out, take a piss, make sure you have a water bottle, whatever the fuck else you need to do. The weights will be down at the starting line and the clock starts at nine, sharp. Questions?”
Two guys raised their hands and I stared right through them, not acknowledging either one. Behind them, Reese stretched her arms over her head, her hands gripping both ends of her drumsticks, and I would’ve given my right nut for the AC to choose that minute to turn on, to get a glimpse of her hardened nipples against the fabric straining at her tits as she arched her back. I must’ve bargained with the wrong deity though, because she relaxed back into her seat without the telltale rattle kicking in.
Beside me, Marco made a small noise of appreciation and a quick glance confirmed his eyes were planted where mine had been just a moment before. Anger swelled my chest and my fingers curled into a fist I wanted to bury in his gut for noticing her body. I didn’t want his eyes—or any other part of him—anywhere near her.
“No? Great. See you there.” Cursing under my breath, I turned and left the room. If there were additional things to discuss, questions to answer, shit to deal with—Marco could have at it. As long as he stayed away from her.
Fuck, what was wrong with me this morning? Was that damned energy drink laced with Viagra or something? Was the passionfruit flavor an indicator of some side effects I hadn’t anticipated?
I needed to splash a bucketful of cold water on my face and pull myself together. But my feet walked right by the water fountain, took me out the heavy steel double doors, and across the grassy courtyard dotted with picnic tables to the white stucco English building.
Burton Hall was guaranteed to be empty this time of day, the men’s bathroom on the second floor deserted.
I had twenty minutes to relieve the ache.
Turned out, I only needed eight.
Reese
Marco all but bared his teeth when he dropped the backpack on my shoulders. He’d held the nylon straps away from my body, so when he let go, the sandbags in the bottom whooshed down and nailed me in the stomach, pushing a surprised grunt past my lips. If possible, his mouth stretched further, until he resembled the Big Bad Wolf.
But he was way off the mark if he thought I could be chased away as easily as Little Red. I’d battled much tougher enemies in my life than an insecure man-child. Marco seemed like the type of guy who liked his women soft-spoken and subservient. Where he could be the one to beat his chest in all his imagined alpha glory and shine in the public eye, while she stayed tucked away in the library, writing his term paper for him, hidden from the glow of the sun. In my mind, I renamed him Scrotum Breath, since his head was so far up his own ass.
“How’s that? Too much?” He attempted to look down his nose at me, but the fact that we were the same height—five foot ten—ruined the effect because he had to tip his head back so far.
“I doubt anything about you would be considered too much—but thanks for the concern.” I dropped my chin, and glanced pointedly at his crotch. He was still sputtering his outrage as I walked away, my eyes firmly on the rubber track so he wouldn’t see the satisfaction painted across my face.
Reese 2, Scrotum Breath 0.
After tucking a water bottle in the mesh side pocket of the bag for easy access, I lined up with the rest of the guys, adjusting the straps to a slightly more comfortable position. The two drummers standing closest on my right took a step back, distancing themselves from me, and I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Turning to confront them directly, I wiggled my fingers at them and whispered, “Cooties!” They scooted farther away, and I rolled my eyes at their lack of balls.
So far, this drumline’s reputation was not living up to the reality.
Well, except for maybe the captain. My fingers were crossed that he wasn’t a turd sandwich beneath all his admittedly pretty packaging.
A soft chuckle came from behind me and I whipped around, ready to dish out more, but when I faced the tall, caramel-skinned smirk hiding behind mirrored-aviator sunglasses, I got the sense he was laughing with me rather than at me. He came closer and bumped his shoulder against mine. “You know,” he grinned as he tipped his head in Marco’s direction, “nothing good is going to come from antagonizing him. You’re just making yourself an even bigger target than you already are.”
I pursed my lips as I thought about it for a minute, respecting the fact that he was probably right. “I know. But I can’t help it. I’m allergic to assholes.”
He threw his head back and laughed, a full-on belly laugh, not caring about the stares we generated. I smiled, liking him already. But then he sobered and caught my eye. “I hear you. But you’re poking a hornet’s nest with that one from what I’ve heard, so just don’t be surprised if you wind up getting stung.”