Page 19 of Praised By the Cornerback

Connor and I walk in silence. It feels strange after yesterday, when we couldn’t go five minutes without talking shit to each other.

We reach the equipment area near the entrance to the building. There’s a stack of clean towels by the door, and we each grab one.

Connor drapes his over one shoulder, then turns to look at me. “Can I ask you something?”

I glance up. “Sure.”

“What’s with the cold shoulder?”

The question catches me off guard. I thought I was being subtle. Apparently not subtle enough.

“What do you mean?” I ask, stalling.

“You know what I mean.” Connor’s watching me with those sharp eyes, the ones that see more than I want them to. “I’ve been needling you all day and you gave me nothing. No comebacks, no teasing. What gives?”

I meet his gaze. “I was trying to avoid making you uncomfortable.”

Connor blinks. “What?”

“This morning.” I keep my voice low, even though Brooks and McKenna are far enough away they can’t hear. “I crossed aline. I shouldn’t have said the things I said or pushed you the way I did. I thought giving you space was the right move.”

Connor just stares at me. His mouth opens, then closes. He looks genuinely thrown, like this is the last thing he expected me to say.

“You thought you made me uncomfortable,” he repeats slowly.

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head, something like frustration crossing his face. “You didn’t. That’s not what’s been bugging me all day.” He opens his mouth like there’s more, then rubs the back of his neck. “Forget it.”

He scoops up his helmet and turns to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walks away before I can respond, disappearing through the door into the building.

I stand there holding my towel, trying to make the pieces line up. He told me it wasn’t the morning, then left before he’d say what it was. But the only thing that’s been different today is me, going quiet and keeping my distance.

It takes me a second to catch up. He’s disappointed that I pulled away.

6

Adrian

Training camp settles into a rhythm by the end of the first week. Connor and I run one-on-ones every day, and between the route corrections and the water breaks, something shifts. We fall into an easy partnership. We eat lunch together most days, usually with Brooks and McKenna but sometimes just the two of us. We don’t talk about that morning in my hotel room.

We don’t talk about it, but it’s there in the space between us when we’re standing too close. Connor’s gaze lingers sometimes before he turns away. I keep a careful distance even when every instinct tells me to close it.

Wilson notices the improvement. Mentions it after practice on Thursday, saying we’re both sharper than when we started. Brooks makes a joke about us becoming best friends, and Connor laughs it off. I don’t say anything.

By Friday afternoon, I’m in the recovery room doing an ice bath when Brooks walks in with McKenna trailing behind him.

“We’re going out tonight,” Brooks announces.

I glance up from the cold plunge. “Have fun.”

“No, we’re all going out. You, me, McKenna, Knox. No arguments.”

“I don’t go out during training camp.”

“You went with us to that club in Miami.”