Elliot ditched his jock reputation after high school. He happily traded his cleats and shoulder pads for college cafeteria food and seminars notes. Now, without the distraction of football, he has managed to find success at the University of Minneso...
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"What's this?"
"A QR code," Wyatt answered. "For Sevyn's Stockroom. My sister gave me fifty stickers to handout. They're having some sort of promotion."
"She still works there?"
"Yeah," Wyatt said. "I try not think about it."
Pierce stuck the sticker onto the back of his phone so he wouldn't forget about it, taking note of the good marketing strategy.
"Does this give me free entry into a sex seminar or something?"
Wyatt laughed. "No," he said. "It's for merchandise...I think."
Pierce started unlacing his skates while Wyatt threw his padding into a storage stall. The locker room blared with Drake's best album and post-game banter. Pierce ignored his teammates. He was searching his duffle bag for deodorant, rushing to be punctual for his date.
"You want to grab a burger?" Wyatt asked. "I'm so damn hungry I almost ate Blake's gloves during second intermission. It's not like he was using them for anything productive."
"I HEARD THAT," Blake said over the tall, wooden stalls.
"THAT'S BECAUSE YOUR EARS ARE AS WIDE OPEN AS THE NET," Wyatt countered. "BLOCK A FUCKING PUCK ONCE IN A WHILE, YOU SIEVE."
"FUCK OFF," Blake hollered.
The surface of Pierce's skin was tight with dried sweat. He chugged the rest of his water bottle, contemplating if he should wash his face or not. Elliot would probably scold him if he didn't maintain his skin care routine, but he decided to skip the exfoliation process to save time.
Wyatt turned to Pierce again, repeating, "Burger?"
"I have plans," Pierce said to Wyatt, quickly packing his gear.
"Bullshit. You never have plans. I spent ninety percent of our freshman year convincing people you weren't a monk." Indeed, Pierce used to spend a lot of time in his dorm, but it wasn't because he was a monk.
Pierce rolled his eyes. "I'm going to the football game." If he hurried, he could watch the last quarter with Elliot.
"The football game? The football game?" Wyatt scoffed. "Are you simping for Quinn Strat now?"
"No, man. I'd never steal your job."
Wyatt threw a shin guard at him. "I told you," he attested. "She's a good friend."
"You invited her to the Halloween darty," Pierce noted. A daytime-party - casual, but still exclusive.
Pierce shook his head, standing to leave. "I'll text you if your girlfriend scores a touchdown." He patted his friend on his shoulder, happy to get out of the sour-smelling space.
