Bad Things

8. Feel

"Coach Mendes is such a dick," Hailee muttered while munching on a ginormous helping of nachos and jalapeños she'd gotten from the snack bar.

Camila turned to her friend, breathing through her mouth so she didn't gag at the smell of the nachos. "What's the deal with that?" She nodded toward the spectacle on the sidelines.

Hailee shrugged and licked melted cheese from her fingers. "He's a hard ass, I guess—at least according to Alex. But he's especially bad with Shawn. You know, probably that whole father-son thing."

Camila thought about that. Her own father had been much the same with Carlos, always pushing him to run faster, throw harder. It didn't matter how much he practiced or how well he played, there was always room for improvement. Coaches were never harder on any player than they were on their own kid.

She looked back out at the field. Coach Mendes now had Shawn by the facemask and seemed to be speaking intensely right in his face. Camila couldn't see Shawn's face from this far away, but she had to assume he wasn't thrilled. No one liked to be talked to that closely, especially since the only reason people usually trapped you like that was to yell at you.

After a moment, Coach Mendes let Shawn go and he jogged out to the center of the field where his team was already in position. He stepped up behind his center, half in a crouch, when he turned his head, shouted something to one of the guys standing to his left, made some sort of gesture with his hand, then turned back forward. It was only a second later before the ball was snapped and in his hands. Camila leaned forward a little more and wrung her hands while watching in rapt fascination.

Shawn held the ball up to his chest and took a few steps back. Opposing players converged around him, his line keeping them back but leaving only about a foot of space between him and them. But that's all he needed.

Camila held her breath as she watched him mark his man, bring his arm up and back, and release the ball. It left his fingertips and sailed in a perfect spiral into the air. Her eyes started to follow the ball, when the hold around Shawn broke and one of the opposing linemen slammed into him from behind. A totally unnecessary hit.

"What the hell?" Camila jumped to her feet when no flag was thrown. "Aw, come on, ref! Roughing the passer!"

Several spectators turned to stare in her direction, and Hailee snickered beside her.

"What are you laughing at?" Camila asked Hailee. "They're not supposed to hit him that long after the release! It should be a penalty."

Hailee held her hands up. "I didn't say anything."

"You're laughing!"

"Because it's funny." Hailee grinned. "For him not being 'your man' you sure have been protective of him today."

Camila's mouth dropped open to defend herself, when she felt her spine prickle. Turning back toward the field, she noticed the Jaguars' defense had taken the field and the offense had returned to the sideline. Involuntarily, her eyes scanned the area for Shawn and it didn't take long for them to find him. He was standing at the back, his helmet off and his face turned toward the stands, eyes on her. Camila swallowed hard, realizing at once that she was still on her feet—the only one still on her feet. Shawn's mouth twitched into what looked like it might be a smile, and he nodded very slightly in her direction before turning back to the game.