“You looked good out there today,” Coach Dodd says in passing, his eyes barely lifting from his phone, even if the tone of his voice is as sincere as I’ve ever heard it.
Tired after the grueling practice, I grin and thank him, then turn for the weight room to squeeze in some resistance training with a little more pep in my step than before.
“Slay all day,” Asher says, tipping his chin at me when I enter. He’s about as subtle as an elephant in a phone booth, but I guess he heard Dodd’s praise.
“I guess I’m just well-fed today or something.” I shrug.
Asher chuckles and grabs two fifty-pound dumbbells, stationing himself at a bench across the room. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
He’s right, though. I performed well today, finding Parrish’s five-hole twice in practice, which almost
