Six Ways from Sunday by Mercy Celeste Read Free Book Online

nothing to make anyone think they were more than they said they were.
    “Bocephus! Who’s your friend?” The voice sounded more like one of the drill sergeants back at base than any coach Dylan remembered. Looked like one too, had the bearing and the haircut and the take no prisoners mean ass stare.
    Dylan pulled himself to attention. “Staff Sergeant Dylan Sunday, Sir.” He didn’t salute. But only because he knew Bo would never let him forget it if he had. The grin that broke out on the man’s face said he’d scored some serious points.
    “Sempre Fi.” The coach took the ball from Bo’s hands. “That’s quite an arm you got there, son, where did you play?”
    “Big Bend High School, Florida, Sir. Same place this knucklehead matriculated from.” Dylan wondered just how much trouble he’d caused Bo when the ball ended up back in his hands.
    “No, son, I mean what college did you attend? But I’m going to guess you and that glorious arm didn’t get picked up back in Florida.”
    “No, sir, I’m on my second enlistment. Went in straight out of high school.” This was something he didn’t go around telling but somehow he knew this guy would understand.
    “Sometimes that’s the way it is. Some give some. Let me see that play again. ‘Cephus, get your ass downfield, fast as your legs can get you there.” Dylan let the unfinished and some give all run through his head for a moment before shaking it off.
    Bo didn’t ask a question; he didn’t make a sound. He simply dropped his shoulders, bent his knees and took off like a flash. When he was at the thirty yard line Dylan pulled the ball up, stepped back and threw with all his might. The ball spiraled up and over the green turf, and then just when it looked like Dylan had overshot his target, Bo zigged again and was in the right place at the right time to meet the ball. Those glorious muscles of his bunched and moved as he jumped to get his hands on it, and then he landed and started back to the coach.
    “Bet that gimmick won you a couple of games.” The coach said holding the ball as he signaled to the sidelines and three guys ran out.
    “State championship.” Bo slapped Dylan on the back. "Best and I mean BEST quarterback I’ve ever worked with.”
    “Don’t let Brody hear you say that,” the coach answered with a malicious grin and started calling off plays, he handed the ball to the center and moved back while Dylan stood there trying to decide how much longer he was going to let this farce go on. Obviously a lot longer. He assumed the position behind the center, and when the ball snapped, he watched as the two receivers took off down the field running intricate patterns meant to confuse the defense. He took his time and picked his receiver then sent the ball barreling down the field. Not a high arc but a straight out bullet to land in the other receiver’s hands. Knocking him backward from the force.
    “Oh fuck me, that hurt.” The guy rubbed his chest where there should have been pads. A huge grin on his face. “Yeah, baby. Damn.”
    The coach just stood there looking angry. Hand on one hip, the other in front of his mouth.
    “There’s not much to do in the desert. Work out and kill people. Football is still football no matter the turf,” he explained while the two receivers made their way back. Bo’s grin fading as he came closer.
    By now they’d attracted a serious audience. Suits as well as players moved around or sat in the small set of stands. The coach standing beside him didn’t say a thing; he called in one of the secondary quarterbacks and put Dylan in Bo’s place.
    “Sit it out, ‘Cephus, let me see what your buddy can do without you egging him on.” And Bo went over to the sidelines without saying one word. But then this was his coach, he would just have to blindly follow orders. Figures, now Bo followed orders.
    “Uh, sir, I uh, really this is not necessary. I’m not sure what’s going on but—“
    “Just shut