Novel & Cerita Football Player With Big Forehead

No one knows. One of them stands out among the rest, though. Rowen Flanigan. The kid is probably six one, so he is already on the tall side for a soccer player. His bright red hair, seriously white skin, and bright green eyes draw attention. If his name wasn't a dead giveaway about his Irish heritage, his looks would be. But that's not the only reason he stands out. The kid is a machine. As a draftee straight out of college, not only is he keeping up with the veterans, it looks like he may run circles around our current starting right mid-fielder.

I ask as I cattily twirl my pen through my fingers. His gorgeous face hardens further, and his lips move as if he's about to respond. But before he does, Mr. Andrews interrupts. “You must be Mikhail Cross?” Mr. Andrews pats him strongly on the back, causing him to stumble slightly forward. It looks funny considering that Mikhail is over six feet and maybe 190 pounds. However, Mr. Andrews was a linebacker for some professional football team, which means he outweighs Mikhail by at least a hundred pounds.

“I have nowhere to go. Tell me, what is the reason you’re letting that perfectly good coffee grow cold?” His dark eyes looked kind, and he lifted a heavy brown brow as he sipped his steaming cup of Joe. I noticed his t-shirt was a 2020 LSU football shirt, which promoted me to believe he was at least a sophomore. He was shaped like a football player, with bulging forearms and a nice southern tan. When he smiled the cleft in his chin was more prominent. What I could see of his hair was dark, maybe short on the side and longer on top.

"He's a typical Beaumont, isn't he?" "That he is", Marthe replied heartily. "He has our prominent features, the hair, eyes and nose, but also enough from Hector when you compare them. His body built for example. And him playing football in Harvard only helped with that." "He played for Harvard?", I asked astonished. "Oh yes. The Crimson, that's their name. It did him good, made him develop some mass. He was a stick figure for a long time." I couldn't imagine that. "On the pictures he looks like he always had strong shoulders and a thin waist though!"

The football team fists bump Mikey and it’s so much I could do to try to squeeze my tiny, 160-centimeter frame through the horde of broad-shouldered lackeys surrounding him and Becca, the new ‘It’ couple, it seems. Mikey is a hammerhead football player who’s dumber than a box of screws but I guess Becca doesn’t like him for his philosophical views on things. He is ginormous compared to his teammates, with broad shoulders and arms thicker than my thighs. He's also really handsome, in that rugged manly-man type of way. Not my type but I can still see the appeal... if he doesn’t open his mouth that is.

The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down.

He laughed brightly at my exhaustion, sat down beside me, and looked at me with a triumphant grin. "I knew I was going to win." I looked at him, amused by his absolute certainty. "You knew?” He nodded seriously. "Yes. Because I'm fast and I can kick the ball really far and I know how to score." I couldn't help but smile at the strong confidence vibrating in his voice, finding his bold assurance completely endearing. "When I'm older, I'm going to be a football player. I'm going to be really good. Like Neymar. Or Messi. Neymar is really good at tricks. Messi is really good at scoring. And Ronaldo is strong and jumps really high.”

He grins when he hears Isaac barrel his way back through the club. “Oi! I’m heading out early, yeah? You twats keep an eye on yourselves. Don’t cause any property damage! Mrs. Leslie is tired of handling it!” Callum poorly stifles a snicker at the chorus of agreement he hears from drunken footballers in the background. The property damage is mostly directed at Francisco, their striker from Guadalajara, and Joshua, their goalkeeper from Montreal. Somewhere between Joshua’s excessive height and Francisco’s excessive enthusiasm, they’ve managed to break a handful of tables at a handful of clubs, who were understandably less than pleased to deal with the aftermath. And god knows Mrs. Leslie does

"And I don't like football players, but I do refuse to date anybody shorter than I am." "Well, that leaves like three guys in the school for you to date that aren't football players, and one of those is your brother. You're like five-eleven, right?" "That sounds about right." "Good thing you didn't say 'dumber'. That would just leave one and I don't even need to add the part about being football players." "You didn't pronounce the n at the beginning of none." "That's not even true, Kota!" "Whatever, but if you're trying to say my tits only look small because I'm tall, I call bullshit."

"The quarterback, Isaac. He is hot, and I've heard he is nice, so he will hear me out." "Oh yeah, even when he rejects people, that guy is polite." "Which is why so many girls like him." There is a snort. "I doubt it's only because of Isaac's personality. The guy is huge. Is he juicing?" "No, I think they test their players?" "Yeah, but he is... I mean, have you seen him without a shirt on?" "I have, but as I said, they test their players, and that guy has been playing football his entire life. He is probably that big since he started to train early."