"Looks like Touchdown is here. Surprise, surprise. That man-slut is never in here unless it's a mandatory team workout. What's his deal today?"
I turn around and see the same guy who knocked me down yesterday coming in and heading to Coach Taylor's office. Of course, I recognize him. He's Duncan Hart, the star of the football team and one of the hottest guys on campus. Six four, two forty, with a body that looks more like it was designed by science and sculpted instead of grown. He’s the sort of guy who can look at you and make you feel like you're a fly in a spider's web. After that, it’s only a matter of time.
Not that he's ever noticed me. I'm a year behind him, and I doubt I’m his type. I'm pretty much invisible, now that I think about it. Only Coach Taylor, a few of my classmates, and the athletes I work with know me, and even then, only partially. I'm too busy busting my ass and making grades to worry about a social life.
"Don't know," I say to Alicia, turning back and looping the pre-wrap around her ankle. That's the easy part, and I yank the spongy wrap to cut it quickly. "Hey, you're a rising senior like Duncan, right?"
"Yep. But I've got two years of eligibility left, since I redshirted my freshman year. I'm going to use it to get started on my Master's while still under scholarship. Why, what's up?"
"Why is he called Touchdown? Linda from the volleyball team called him that yesterday, right before he nearly ran me over in the hallway upstairs. He didn’t even help me up."
Alicia chuckles and nods. "That's Touchdown. A lot of us girls around campus that know him call him Touchdown for two reasons. One, of course, is the connection to football. When you're the man who creates more points than anyone else, you get nicknames like that."
“I should probably know who he is, but the football team's the pickiest with student trainers, and I haven’t gone to any games in what little free time I have. Studying, you know?" I say honestly. Maintaining a full-ride academic scholarship is hard, and spots in the training community are few and far between. I don't want to graduate only to face a job market where the best I can do is compete for clients at the local Globo-Gym. Most of them are housewives, and who would choose me to train them over some hot guy who can really motivate you?
"Well, the other reason is a bit of a joke, too. There's debate on the exact details of the particular number, but he’s got a reputation around campus with the girls. I once jokingly called him Eighty-Three, since that's his jersey number. I bet that guy sees more ass than a proctologist."
"Ew." I laugh at Alicia's disgusting joke. "Still, Touchdown? That's just . . . I mean, I'm not sure I've had eighty-three orgasms in my life," I joke back as I wrap another strip of tape around her ankle. I quickly finish the job and give her foot a squeeze. "How does that feel?"
She circles her foot to the inside and then the outside, then smiles. "Good. You seriously know how I like it—not too tight, not too loose. Thanks."
"No worries. Make sure you do your warmups," I say, helping her on with her sock. Alicia thanks me and gets her shoe on, walking out of the training room while I put my stuff away. Just as I put the tape back in its bin, I hear a knock at the door, and I turn around to see Chelsea Brown, one of the other student trainers and another rising senior, at the door. "Hey, Chels, what's up?"
"Coach Taylor wants to see you in the office. He sent me to take care of the rest. Who's been by?"
"Just Alicia—got her ankle done."
"Okay. Thanks. Anything I should be aware of?”
I check my clipboard and shake my head. "No, just ankle tapes. Thanks, Chels."
I go through the weight room, noticing a couple of hot guys from the baseball team getting in some work with the midsection routine that Coach Taylor likes to call 'Puke City,' and I admire their builds before one of them gives me a wink. Really? Was he just winking to make me blush, or was he checking me out?
"Hey, Carrie?" Coach Taylor calls from his office, startling me. "You forget something?"
Yeah, my brain, which is not where it should be. I shake my head and go into his office. "Sorry, Coach. Just had a brain fart. Chelsea said you wanted to see me?"
He nods and indicates Duncan, who's sitting in one of the other chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands behind his head. This close, he's even sexier than I'd seen from a distance, with coal black hair and gray eyes that can only be described as smoky. There are flecks of something in his eyes that glitter and shine, like gold or diamonds hidden in the midst of all that smoke. "This is Duncan Hart, from the football team. Duncan, have you met Carrie before?"