The Quarterback 소설 & 이야기

"What positions does everybody play?" "Well, I'm obviously the quarterback." He replied while puffing out his chest mockingly. "Christan's our running back, and..." He kept saying who did what, but I didn't care about those guys. I just needed to know who the running back. Poor Christan. He wouldn't even know what hit him.

I say more like a question. "Well, the school's quarterback and bad boy is carrying you on his waist in the hallways, there's not much else to expect." Jackson says, smirking. "Quarterback and bad boy?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at Sebastian. "Yeah, I'm the quarterback but the bad boy title I'm not sure how I got." He answers. "It's because he is used to getting what he wants and can get quite pissed at people disturbing him or sluts clinging to him." Ty explains.

“Poor choice of words on my part. Not that it isn’t true because it is but it’s not your fault and I get that. How much do you know about football?” “Not much. I know Owen is the quarterback and that’s like the guy that handles the football, right?” “Yes, you’re right but before he handles it, the center has it. The center is the one that snaps the ball and passes it between his legs to the quarterback. Guess who our center is?” “Gary.” I answered, already suspecting where this was going.

He lets his smile tick upwards. “Okay, then tell me, what does the quarterback do?” I roll my eyes. “The ball snaps to him at the beginning of every play his team has the ball, and he’s almost always the one tossing the ball to his teammates to score points.” He raises his eyebrows. “Lucky guess.” “I know football, Sebastian, come on!” “Then tell me what the yellow thing is at the end of the field.” “Really? The goal posts, come on!”

I definitely wouldn't be partying it up in Greek row. Alonso is swimming laps in the pool, his powerful body gracefully cutting through the water. I'm again in awe at his athleticism. I've seen him on TV and on social media videos, but nothing comes close to seeing him in real life. What's even hotter is that the quarterback is the one making decisions out on the field. He is the leader of the game, and whatever he decides, makes or breaks the game. That's a lot of pressure, but all the critics say he's the best in college football, yet he hasn't won the most prestigious trophy yet. The Heisman trophy is every college player's dream, and if someone say it isn'

I won’t stop screaming until Asher’s crossed the line, scoring the game's final touchdown. The world explodes around me as my quarterback celebrates on the field.

The corridor was wide enough that we were not crowding each other but he was pacing me exactly, staying level, and I was not going to speed up to get away from it. "The quarterback position carries a certain weight in this programme," he said. He kept his voice at the level of a normal conversation, nothing that could be flagged as a confrontation if someone was listening. "It is not just about what happens on the field. The way you carry yourself off it matters too. Who you are seen with. What you make visible to the rest of the team." He paused like he was being thoughtful about it. "Some of the guys take a while to figure that out. I am just saying it upfro

"Going somewhere?" Roman's voice stops me cold. I turn and find six players still there. The starting lineup. The best athletes on the team, the ones I've spent the most time with, the ones whose bodies I know better than my own. They're shirtless, still in their game pants, sweat glistening on muscles I've memorized with my professional hands over the course of the season. Roman. The quarterback, dark hair and sharp jaw. West. The running back, cocky grin already in place.

I don’t want to completely trash my body, and as I get older, I realize that I want to be known for things other than my stats as a quarterback. “If the front office wants an answer today, then I don’t think they’ll like the one I give them,” I answer angrily, knowing it’s not fair to take out my frustration on Ryan. He sighs, staying quiet on the other end of the line for a moment while he gathers his thoughts. “I’ll tell them you haven’t decided, then.” It isn’t hard to hear the disappointment laced in every single one of his words.

“Nothing to say. I fucked up the pocket. Got slow. Got hit. Now the team’s screwed and it’s on me.” “That’s not ” “It is.” His voice cracked on the last word, raw and jagged. He closed his eyes, hand fisting in the blanket until his knuckles whitened. “I’m the QB. I’m supposed to be unbreakable. I’m supposed to be the one who doesn’t fold. The one who makes the read, takes the hit, gets back up. That’s the job.” I moved before I could think crossed the small space between our beds, climbed onto his mattress carefully so I didn’t jar his ankle. I knelt beside him, hands gentle on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my palms.