Out Loud

Chapter six

Carter

"Welcome back to hell Ladies" Coach Herbert says half-scream half-threat as he welcomes us back to training after the summer break.

He's in a good mood, and that only means one thing: training is gonna be brutal.

"Line up kids. I'm dying to see your ugly face again" He speaks again, gesturing to put us on the line

"Does he have to speak that loud?" Noah sighs, scratching his head in frustration. In reality he is still in hangover since last night and he will pay the consequences as soon as Coach sees him. We'll all pay the consequences.

"You are the one who's shouting N. This is his normal tone of voice" I counter "Keep your voice lower" I shoves him, stepping away from him.

"Yeah and you keep your face down before he kills me" Noah utters, but he has a point.

All the team, which includes players from freshman to senior levels, lines up in front of the coach, splitting in two rows since we are a huge number.

"Welford nice to see you again kid" He says standing in front of Quinton, one of the team's wide receiver and one of my roommates "Ready to kill for your last season at LSU?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm a tiger" He growls, winking at him.

I watch Quinton relaxing as Coach walks past him, moving on to the next victim to questioning. I never believed in psychics and all that shits, but holy hell Coach is a real life fucking psychic because it seems he always caught us when we throw or go to a party, or drink more than the usual.

"Leighthold" Coach stops in front of me, and his face goes complete blank.

I close my eyes, mentally cursing at stupid Noah and his idea of going to a party the night before the training starts. Please, please don't throw up on coach's feet.

I don't know why Coach does that, maybe because he's one of my other roommates and for this we may need an extra surveillance, or because he just wants all of us to shit in our pants. Then he says, placing a hand on his shoulder "I'm glad to see you wearing purple and gold colors again this year".

Hearing that, I glance up at him blinking a few time, trying to find the right words or the courage to open his mouth without rat all of us out. After a few seconds, his lips twitches in a shy smile, he opted for the best option so coach won't smell his vodka breath.

He pats his shoulders again before heading to the end of the first line, where, I know from the moment he set a foot on the field, he have been secretly eyeing Noah this entire time.

"McCauley..." he grins. Fuck we are dead. Jesus. More than dead. He will switch me from football to the choir.

Noah stays in lines, keeping a straight face and I know he's trying so hard to shout his mouth before making some smart ass comment to annoy the Coach just for fun.

Cook pokes me in the side, and when I glance back at Noah, his corner of the lips curling up in a lazy grins, I know where he is going to do say something very stupid enough to to be worth three miles to warm up. Coach is still waiting for him to speak his stupid mind, maybe naively thinking that he has grown this summer from freshman to sophomore year.