Home > Drumline(8)

Drumline(8)
Author: Stacy Kestwick

I groaned silently and closed my eyes. The Alabama sun was fucking bright on Tuesday mornings.

Prying my eyes open to slits, I glared at Marco. He was way too chipper, bordering on downright fucking gleeful at nine in the godforsaken morning. He hadn’t even said anything rude to me yet. I guess Amber had emptied his balls good after the party.

Maybe she could practice with him every night.

Smith stood very still behind his aviators next to me, moving only the bare necessity required, but he looked like he was in better shape than most of the NADs clustered in a semi-circle on the practice football field. Bubba appeared largely unaffected. Probably from his sheer bulk.

And Laird… I wasn’t sure about him yet. His movements were brittle, and when he bothered to glance my way, which wasn’t often so far, it was as if he couldn’t decide if he was pissed off or liked what he saw.

My eyes drifted shut again. Sight wasn’t technically needed for this part of the practice, just rhythm and coordination, and it was nice and dark behind my eyelids. My sunglasses hopefully hid my outward show of weakness.

Thwap!

My eyes shot open to find Laird in front of me, reaching forward to play on my drum in tandem with me. I automatically adjusted my hands to make room for his sticks. Breaking rhythm briefly, he shoved his sunglasses on top of his head, purposefully exposing his eyes to me, before seamlessly resuming the cadence.

Confused, I studied his face. He stared right at me while we played, neither of us looking down. Was this a test? Was he trying to send me a message—either personal or professional?

With no shield to block them, I could see smudges of purple under his eyes, the way the slight grooves around the outside corners seemed deeper this morning. His brow sagged and his back wasn’t as ramrod straight as it should’ve been.

I tipped my head to the side almost imperceptibly in silent question.

His answer was a clenching of his jaw and tightening of his fingers around his drumsticks, his rhythm shifting to a slightly more staccato execution of the triplet pattern.

So… tired? And pissed? At me?

His green eyes bore into mine and when I couldn’t take it any longer, I mouthed a silent, “Sorry,” apologizing for whatever I’d done to upset him. He raised his chin a smidgeon in acknowledgement, but that shamrock gaze promised we’d be having a discussion later.

What had I done?

The question rattled around my throbbing head as we transitioned to the next round of torture.

We had to drink a full glass of cold milk before we started a five-mile run, this time thankfully without weighted backpacks. If you puked, you had to drink another glass. Based on the almost two-hour time limit, this was more an exercise in survival and stamina than speed.

Scrunching up my nose in distaste, I chugged mine down in three long swallows. Milk wasn’t really my thing. It was alright in cereal, or in ice cream form, but just drinking it for the sake of drinking it was something I’d stopped doing years ago.

Laird and Marco stripped off their shirts, tossing them to the side of the rubberized track. Some of the other guys followed suit. When Marco glanced my way, his eyes full of challenge, I shrugged off my tank top as well, making a point of stretching my arms overhead and twisting at the waist. They weren’t the only ones with flat abs.

I hoped his dick swelled and hurt like hell when he tried to run with a stiffy. It’d serve him right.

“You showing off for Marco or Laird?” Smith teased from beside me, flexing his bared pecs and making them dance. “Or is it for me?”

I made a face. “It could be that it’s just fucking hot out here and my thick blood isn’t used to it yet.”

“Batman, there ain’t nothing thick about you.”

I let his compliment roll off me. My body was fine, strong and capable, but nothing to get all that excited about. Average boobs, average ass, good abs, thighs that almost had a gap if I stood just right. I had curves but they weren’t as exaggerated as what the guys tended to drool over. I was just… me.

“Bet you ten bucks Laird runs behind you again.”

I shot him a warning look, blaming the heat blooming across my cheeks on the weather. “And I bet you twenty that Marco finds a way to talk to you while we’re out there. You never did tell me, what was that about last time anyway?”

He waved me off, but his lips twisted in annoyance. “He just wanted to talk about old high school bullshit. Asking if the line there had gone to hell after he left.”

All around us, NADs and vets alike surged forward. I must have missed the start signal while we were talking.

We fell into the pack near the end, our pace easy. I could feel the milk sloshing in my belly as we ran. The banana and ibuprofen I’d had for breakfast did nothing to absorb the liquid and I regretted not getting a stack of pancakes in the dining hall instead.

On lap two, a NAD jetted to the edge of the track, vomiting into the grass. Another one joined him on lap three. By lap six, they’d both quit, the second glass of milk not going down any easier than the first.

As we ran, I tried to recall last night. I honestly didn’t remember much after that last cup of NAD juice Marco gave me. I woke up in my own bed, in my locked dorm room, so I’d gotten home somehow. I’d even washed my face and changed into an oversized Rodner University t-shirt before crashing. I frowned as we rounded a curve. The details were fuzzy, dancing just out of my reach. Had Smith helped me out? Or Willa? I had a vague memory of her saying she lived in the dorm building next to mine.

At the end of the run, Marco looked pleased as he watched the quitters pack their stuff and walk away, and I’d lost both bets to Smith. Laird had brought up the rear of the group, whether because he felt it was his spot as a leader or, as Smith predicted as he held out his hand for payment, to watch me jiggle. And Scrotum Breath had kept his distance the whole time, which somehow struck me as more suspicious than if he’d taunted us during the event.

As we both used our shirts to wipe down our sweaty upper bodies, I stole furtive glances at Laird. He was talking with a skinny guy named Topher I’d been introduced to briefly last night, his hands bracketing his narrow hips, making no effort to cover himself up yet.

My throat was dry and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I watched him. Laird’s chest was carved perfection, with a star inked high on his left pec and something else small tattooed on the other one. A letter, maybe? I was too far away to tell for sure.

Laird laughed at something Topher said and his abs rippled, framed by a pair of delicious obliques that arrowed down to his groin.

Dear sweet Jesus in the garden, I wanted to smell him. Covered in sweat and sunshine with a smile on his face. Maybe lick his neck for good measure.

Smith handed me a bottle of water, and I forced myself to turn away from my all too tempting half-naked captain before I did something stupid to gain his attention, like dump the water all over my chest instead of drinking it.

“Hot today, isn’t it?” I said dumbly, sipping at the water.

Smith chuckled and elbowed me, his knowing gaze touching briefly on Laird. “It damn sure is.”

I scowled. It’s not like I could call dibs. He was the fucking captain.

Nothing could happen between us, no matter how much I might want it. If I made the line—no, scratch that—when I made the line, I didn’t want there to be any doubt how I earned my spot.

And it’d be with my drumsticks, not on my knees.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t daydream.

Marco clapped his hands, effectively calling our attention to him, and we dutifully gathered around. He stood up on a bench, and I swore he flexed his biceps as he spoke. “Two more down. C’mon NADs, suck it up. You’re making this too easy for us. You get an hour break, which I highly suggest using to shower so I don’t have to smell y’all the rest of the day, and then we’re meeting back in East Hall for more sight-reading. I need to get rid of a few more of you ball-lickers today.”

Smith choked on his water next to me as Marco finished dismissing us.

“You okay there, Robin?”

“I’m fine.” He waved me off. “Just went down the wrong side. C’mon, let’s get out of here and get some caffeine before the afternoon session.”

   
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