Play Me Read Online Free Page B

leave with an amazing last year under their belts. Now,” he stands up, adjusting his pants, “let’s go get ‘em, boys!”
    A loud roar fills the room. Everyone files out of the locker room and onto the practice field.
    The warm Arkansas air hits my face sending the smell of freshly cut grass against me. There isn’t one smell in the world that I love more than a freshly cut football field. Whether I’m tackled to the grass or I’m running full speed down the field it makes me feel alive. It’s the one place I belong.
    We line up in our stretch lines and follow as coach blows his whistle for each switch. Scouts are coming to our first game, and I’m fucking nervous. Sure they’ve been here before and watched me play but now I’m a senior. Now it’s time to show them what I’ve got. The last I heard, Coach Turner told me the St. Louis Rams, Miami Dolphins and the Buccaneers are coming. I’m pumped and fucking ready. I don’t think I could be any more ready.
    A loud thud catches my attention and I glance over to the sidelines. Roxy and the other trainers are picking up a fallen ice bucket from the ground. Roxy bends over, the fabric of her pants pulling tight against her ass. Blake was right … it is nice. Round. Plump. Her hips are nice too, not to wide not to slender, enough room to grab a hold of them and pull her back against–
    “Get into special teams!” Coach Turner yells.
    Fuck.
    We take the field in our special teams and get into position. Crouching, I scan the row of offensive players in front of me. Quite a few of them are freshman. I can see the determination in some of their eyes. The same determination that got me where I am today.
    “38 blast. Time to shine, Wes. Time to shine, hut,” Jason yells out. My eyes meet his and I nod.
    Players explode around me, everyone running to their positions. I run to the B Gap on the right side. Throwing my shoulder in front of me, I break one tackle, pushing through him and running as fast as I can. My breath is heavy, my eyes focused. I was made for this. I am football.
    Pushing through the second tackle, the freshman grabs onto my left leg while two other players knock me to the ground. I watch as the field becomes the sky, as I roll onto the field. A sharp pain shoots through my upper leg, scorching a searing ache deep down.
    “Take a knee! Take a knee!” I hear Coach Turner screaming, but I’m hurting too fucking bad to look. Jesus Christ this isn’t happening. Nope, not freaking happening. I’m dreaming. No, I’m having the worse nightmare of my entire life. Yes, a nightmare. That has to be it. I cannot be hurt. Not when I need to practice for the first game.
    “Weston! Wes, can you move?” Turner or Perry? Fuck, I can’t even tell. Open your eyes, dumbass . Opening one eye, I stare up at my position coach. A line of worry is creasing his face. He’s nervous. A bead of sweat drips from his forehead onto the field. “Can you move, son?”
    Can I? I haven’t tried. “I’m fine,” I lie. Trying to move, another ache shoots up my thigh. “Fuck!” I scream.
    “Jesus Christ, dismiss practice. We have to get this taken care of, Perry.” I hear Perry talking to other players and chewing them out. Probably the freshman asshole that thought he was going to tackle me, which he did but look at me. I’m hurt. The pain is burning my thigh. Stupid freshman always trying to look badass. A player moves in front of me and pulls off his helmet. Dom’s eyes widen. “Dude, are you okay?”
    I shake my head instead of answering.
    A few seconds later, both coaches grab me by the arms and carry me like a baby between the both of them. This is ridiculous. I do not get hurt. Ever. I’ve only ever hurt myself once when I sprained my ankle. And that was because a big girl sat on it at recess in fifth grade. Clearly not my fault. But I guess it doesn’t fucking matter who’s fault it is because I’m hurt either way.
    They hurry me into the training room