Football Player With Big Forehead Novels & Stories

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 studied them all, seeing their heads held high, but eyes full of worry and doubt. The Highland White Sharks were the roughest football team in the tristate area. They were known to play dirty, sometimes going as far as to break bones, and have rarely lost a game. Last year, I had almost gotten burned by their Captain, Jack Farland, when he charged at me and took out my shoulder. Luckily it only got bruised, but I was out for most of the game because it was my throwing arm. Anyway, they were tough, and all the guys knew that, and most of them didn't want to go against them so early in the season.

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!"

He has a red mark on his forehead. "You?"

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.”

Which apparently I am. "Word is he'll be entering the draft in January even though he could play here at Barnett for another year." Her eyes dance with unmitigated excitement as if she has a personal stake in that actually occurring. Then she sighs rather dreamily, "And just look at him, he's totally gorgeous." My gaze slides to the eye candy currently being discussed. She’s right, he’s definitely gorgeous. But I'd also lay odds he's a cocky douchebag player as well. I mean, come on, he's a football player. Who looks like some kind of freaking Adonis.

"You're on a diet?" "Yeah. We, as football players, should maintain our physique." I nodded in response, unsure of what to say next. My eyes couldn't help but to trail on his toned arms that were cloaked with Kingsley's uniform. His broad shoulders were apparent, bulging on the button-up shirt he was wearing. And when I met his sharp jaws that were clenching, I gulped. I quickly looked away when I heard him chuckle, as I felt a flush on my cheeks.