KICK IT | JENLISA

89

Lisa

Any normal person would probably have been happy with that result but not me. In a profession where inches and seconds shaved off meant the difference between eternal glory and empty-handed disappointment, I strove for nothing less than at least one hundred percent. 'No one tells me I can be faster, higher, or stronger' was my motto since high school.

The more years I played football, the more it changed. Pee Wee started so I could toss the ball with my dad mimicking Warren Kim the Hall-of-Fame quarterback who played ten years in Dallas, high school was to keep my ass too busy to get into any trouble, college was my scholarship lifeline, and the NFL was my life and livelihood.

At each incremental step, stringy limbs forged into solid muscle, and friends morphed into co-workers, but we remained a cohesive unit. One broken or out of sync part eroded the whole machine's efficiency. Houston being an almost five-billion-dollar machine only increased the pressure to perfection.

The athletic perfectionist in me clenched my jaw. "That's it?"

Bambam hen-clucked behind his teeth. Those pearly whites might have tempted some, but I scowled at his justification. "Considering you were ninety-five percent when the season ended and sixty-four percent before Jennie blessed your life, I'd say that you're doing pretty damn good."

His sombre reminder of Jennie cooled the irritation simmering inside me.

"We should celebrate."

"Someone say celebrate?" a deep voice called out, drawing my eyes to a large pair of hands held in prayer over a chunky gold cross on a chain. "Namaste, Twinkle Toes."

"No." I pinched my nose bridge at my offensive teammates, Hoony and Austin. They strutted in with workout gear and bags slung across their chests. Their heavy steps squeaked across the gym floor.

"Why you never come out with us, captain?" Austin referred to the countless club invitations circulated in the name of offensive team bonding. I couldn't delete them fast enough.

The loose women side of being a professional athlete never appealed to me. The number of guys who both enjoyed drama and got burned by it was about the same as the number in solid relationships with their college or high school sweethearts. Professionalism capped most distractions during the season, when the team and players were flooded with the limelight. Exceptions existed, including these two guys, four years my junior.

"Keeping quiet." I answered. "You should try it."