Mom. That’s what it was about Dylan. She was, in so very many ways, Millie Johnson-Snyder. No wonder my mom liked the Nichols family so much.
“My dad’s told me a lot about you, Reed. He’s a big fan,” she said with a certain air of confidence.
Okay, flattering, but she wasn’t flirting. This was good.
“Your numbers look good—impressive, in fact. You could go higher than Patricks did last year, but only if the timing’s right.”
Dylan Nichols knew her way around the business of football. “Thanks,” I said. One-word answers were safe.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow, sorry. I didn’t mean to let business creep in before your game. Habit, blame my dad,” she giggled, but not in a girly way. She was Millie…and Nolan was going to flip the f**k out at lunch tomorrow.
“I gotta go get ready,” I said, slinging my jersey over my shoulder to take her hand one more time in a business-like shake. “It was nice to meet you, Dylan. My girlfriend’s excited to meet you, too,” I said, forcing the words from my mouth and putting them where they didn’t belong, but wanting to make my relationship clear—probably wanting to clear my own conscience a bit, too. The part about Nolan being excited, however, was overkill. All I had going for me now was playing up the humor in the misunderstanding of gender-neutral names, something Nolan could relate to. But I knew even that wouldn’t soothe the discomfort she was sure to feel when she was sandwiched at a table between the young and seasoned versions of my mother.
Dylan left my mind the second I stepped through the tunnel. Truth was there wasn’t much room for anything other than winning when I was on the field. I always had the gift of concentration. It was my edge, and it’d taken me pretty far.
We ended up defeating Oregon 14-21. Their defense was everything I’d expected it to be, punishing, tough, brutal and strong. But they didn’t break me. I’d made it through one more game with my wits still with me.
“You comin’ out with us tonight, Johnson?” Trig said as he walked by on his way to the showers, smacking my head with his rolled-up towel, “Or your girlfriend got you on a leash tonight?”
I knew he was only teasing, but it pissed me off. “Fuck off,” I said, shoving him a little.
“Shit, man. I was kidding. Noles is my girl, you know that,” he looked offended.
“Sorry, just a little stressed…” I said, my mind bouncing between wanting to talk to Nolan about the draft, warn her about Dylan and then…Dylan. “Yeah, we’ll probably come out with you guys. Where you headed first?”
“Cooler’s, I guess. They never charge,” Trig said, flipping on the water to his shower.
“Okay, we’ll meet you there,” I said, turning to the hot water now streaming at my face.
I lucked out when I hooked up with Trig. He came to Arizona from New Mexico, and the man was a quarterback’s dream. If I put the ball anywhere near his shadow, he was catching it. We were both Johnsons, which had become the favorite headline for the campus paper. ‘Johnson & Johnson.’
Trig came from a big family, and he was the youngest. He had four brothers who all played college ball. His oldest brother, Miles, was a left tackle for the Cardinals, and we got some pretty sweet seats to some of the games thanks to that little connection. Trig understood my pressure better than anyone else on the team, and he’d been there to talk through a lot of the draft shit when I wasn’t ready to bring it up to Nolan. And after, when it freaked her out, he was there for that, too. His girlfriend went to UofA with us, and they’d been dating about as long as Noles and I had. Trig was looking to enter the draft this year, too. But his girlfriend, Amy, was all for it. And I envied him for it.
Nolan and Sarah were waiting on the leather sofa at the main entrance to the athlete quarters, their feet folded up in their laps. The girls had grown closer in college and even more so when Sienna moved in with her boyfriend. I was glad that Nolan had someone like Sarah to look after her. She’d told me off a time or two, and I’ll be honest, it made me nervous. I wanted that same toughness at Nolan’s side when I wasn’t around.
“Well, how’d I do?” I asked, kicking at Nolan’s folded legs a little.
She stood up, pulling her shirt down over the top of her shorts, always modest and still so damned unsure of her beauty. Chewing at the inside of her cheek a little, she put her thumb to her lip like she was considering something. “Hmmmm, I don’t know, Johnson. I’d put you at about eighty percent,” she nodded, acting with disappointment.