Free Over the Middle: A Sports Romance by Lauren Landish Page A

the conference championship, as the team that finishes the regular season as the conference champions will host the championship game."
    Will this guy hurry the fuck up? I need to get taped. I need to see Carrie. The past two days, she's barely said anything to me, and I'm not able to focus. I can't get past Wednesday night, and I want this to be over with. Then there was my Dad . . . fuck this. I need outta here. Now .
    "With us now is Duncan Hart, the star tight end of the Western Bulldogs. Duncan, thanks for joining us. I know you're going to be getting ready to play soon."
    "I'm always ready to play," I say into the mike, just letting my mouth go. I don't care any more. "But what's up?"
    "Well, Duncan, in pregame analysis, it's going to be a tough battle between Western's spread offense, and Clement's vicious defense. In speaking yesterday with Nick Hostler, the Clement defensive captain and linebacker, he says that he's looking forward to it. It seemed very interesting. He was quite interested in you, in particular. Any idea why?"
    Because last year, I smoked his ass . . . not that I would use those exact words in an interview. I know I’m a trash talker, but I try to be smart about it. “Nick's the sort of player who wants to test himself against the best. It's one of the things I like about him."
    "You say one of the things. What's the other?"
    "He keeps testing himself against me, and he keeps failing the test," I say with a smirk.
    After the interview is over, Coach Bainridge pulls me aside. "Really, Duncan? Did you have to bad mouth the other team two hours before kickoff?"
    "Don't sweat it, Coach," I reply, brushing him off. “It wasn’t that bad—just a little gamesmanship. If anything, it should get the fans riled up. Hostler knows I hate him, and he hates me. Some kiss-kiss words before the game won't change that. Besides, I need to get ready."
    "You’d better," Bainridge says, giving me a look, "because your practice the past two days has been garbage. Get your head right."
    I'd like to get my head right, but it seems that I've got everyone and their fucking brother trying to stop me from doing it. I go to the trainer's room, where Carrie is finishing up taping Tyler's ankle—he rolled it a little on Tuesday—then she turns to me. "You know, you don't need the elbow tape anymore. That thing's stronger than it was before your injury, by this point."
    "Just give me my security blanket and let me have some peace of mind," I reply, holding out my arm. Carrie goes to work, wrapping the first layer of pre-wrap around my elbow, totally silent. I fume for a moment, then launch in. "Well, Duncan, why yes, I have had a great morning. In fact, I was just enjoying a wonderful conversation with my friends about whether to have granola or pancakes with breakfast tomorrow. How's your day been? Oh, I'm doing fine, Carrie. I saw my father before breakfast, where he blew me off, and I've just completed an interview with a national cable network, where I probably came off as an asshole, pissed off Coach Bainridge, and now, the one person I really want to talk to won't even speak to me. Other than that, my day's going to hell!"
    "And that's my fault?" Carrie asks softly, looking up at me. "It's my fault that you treated me like shit on our date and came off as that cocksure asshole that I just got finished telling you I didn't like? In case you didn't notice, you're the one causing your own problems by not being able to think about what the hell comes out of your own mouth. Before our date went south, I was having a good time, because I told you, there are two of you. There's the you who’s intelligent, one hell of a ball player, and a guy I happen to like. Then there's the you that, like you said, is an asshole. Your choice, Duncan. I hope to see the first guy more."
    Carrie leaves the training room, and I'm left alone, steaming in my own anger. Finally, in frustration, I punch the supply locker next to me, putting a dent