I push away from the wall and step toward the door, only for it to fly open. I startle and jump back. A little “oof’ escapes, and I cover my mouth.
“Hey,” he says, with a grin so wide and bright it could melt the snow. “What are you doing here?”
“Peyton showed me where to wait?”
“Were you about to come into the locker room?” he asks as he looks over his shoulder.
Busted. I nod and feel the heat in my cheeks rise. “I thought maybe you left through a different door. I was going to open it and holler inside for you.”
“Do you want to have a look around?” Julius reaches for the handle on the door and opens it, propping it with his foot. He motions for me to enter. Each step I take is hesitant, almost as if I’m afraid I’m going to get into trouble. Or worse, become a locker room cliché.
This is the first time I’ve ever been in a locker room that wasn’t at the gym or school. I’m pleasantly surprised by how clean it is and am shocked by the space. The room is massive, with a giant Pioneer logo on the floor. The lockers themselves look like cabinets, with shelves, hangers, and cubby holes. Julius leads me over to his space, and inside there are pictures of Roxy and Reggie and one of his parents.
“Wow, this place is huge.”
“It has to be when you have forty-six men trying to get dressed at the same time, plus staff and about fifteen coaches moving about. It can get a little cramped in here.” We continue to walk around. “Once the room is clean, staff will shut the doors. When we return for our next home game, we’ll come in, and all our equipment will be ready to go.”
“What about practice?” I ask.
“We have a practice facility. The equipment manager will make sure our pads, helmets, and other necessities are in our lockers there for our next practice.”
“There are so many logistics that go into this sport. I had no idea.”
Julius nods. “It’s weird because growing up, my parents had to buy my equipment. My mom used to complain about the smell of my pads or the grass stains on my pants. When I got to college, they had managers to take care of everything. It was a nice change, almost like a reward for doing well in high school. Now, it’s ten times more than in college. If I don’t like how something fits, the manager takes care of it.”
“And you just show up and play?”
He shrugs. “More or less. Each guy has a different philosophy. Noah and I are close, and in the off-season, we hang out together, mainly in California. The warmer weather helps with muscle aches and pains. We workout, train, run, do everything we can to stay in shape for preseason. Other guys sit on the couch from whenever the season ends until July, and then it’s a mad dash to get ready.”
Julius guides me into another room. It looks like a spa but isn’t. “This is where we come if we have an on-field injury or need to recoup after a game.”
“Ice baths?”
“Yep, ever had one?”
“No,” I say. “But I’ve seen the commercials. They don’t appeal to me.”
“You get used to them,” Julius tells me. “This is also where we get stim before a game if we need it, and where we get our wrists and ankles taped. Then when the game starts, the training staff is on the sidelines, making sure we’re good through the entire game.”
“I saw them on the sidelines, and one was in the tent thingy.”
“Yes, that’s where we go if the injury is minor. Mostly to keep the media away from what we’re doing and to protect the spectators from seeing our blood gush.”
I set my hand over my stomach, feeling queasy. “I’m happy never to see anything like that.”
Julius takes me to another room. “This is where we shower. We have a schedule. Noah is always first, and the rookies are last. The rest of us fall in line.”
I don’t tell him what Peyton told me—that he likes to take his time. I’m sure if he felt it was important information, he’d share it. I turn to leave, but strong hands on my waist stop me. Julius pulls me to his chest and walks backward until we’re straddling on a wooden bench. It’s wider than the ones at the gym and a bit more comfortable.
“We’re in the room where you boys shower,” I point out.
Julius nods. “I wanted to be alone for a minute.”
“You’re the last one here.”
“The staff is still here and the cleaning crew. People are always around, lurking behind corners and hiding in the shadows.”
I decide to move closer, our knees touching. Julius’s dark hair is combed back, and he smells like clean linen with a hint of Old Spice mixed with his everyday woodsy scent. His baby blue eyes watch me for a sign . . . of what, I don’t know. He doesn’t need my permission to kiss me or put his hands on me. Instead of waiting for him to make a move, I push my fingers through his dark hair and watch as his cheeks turn a light shade of red. His hands are gentle as they cup the back of my legs, gripping the back of my knees. Julius tugs me forward until my legs are wrapped around his waist, and I’m no longer on the bench but straddling him. Those rough hands of his press into my backside, pushing me closer to him.