Hi Mariah,

I hope this email finds you well! I am happy to inform you that Reid Donahue has accepted our proposal, and I will keep you updated as we begin to work on the first part of this project.

Go Tigers!

Josephine Lawrence

Kayla nodded as she read over my email one more time. I didn't trust my hungover brain to orchestrate a professional email without an extra set of eyes on it.

"I think overall it sounds good," she told me as she slid my phone across the kitchen island. "Although take out I hope this email finds you well. When you say that, more often than not the email does not find them well. I'm pretty sure everyone in the corporate world hates that phrase, they just won't say they do."

I snorted out a laugh. "Thanks for confirming that."

We'd made it back to my apartment after the fireworks last night, where I gave Kayla the run-down on the Reid situation over the oreo-stuffed cookies I'd baked the day before. In the morning, I made us ideal hangover food - egg and cheese on toast, and naturally I had to slather mine with garlic chili oil.

"Now will you tell me what's going on with you and JJ freakin' Jameson?" I said with a coy smirk as I put a plate down in front of her.

"It's not that serious," Kayla waved me off with an awkward chuckle. "I mean I've known him for years. We're friends. We hooked up. Don't think we will again."

I slid her a wary glance. "Okay, if you say so."

Judging from the way Reid talked about JJ's perceived side of it, JJ might not have shared the same sentiment. But I wasn't a gossip monger. After all, I didn't want to be poked at either, and part of what made Kayla a good journalist was her ability to poke. The moment she saw a crack, she'd find a way to wedge herself into it.

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I'd spent the first day of summer access in the media department office, putting together the plan for the team's official media day later in the week. Mara had helped me organize a few cameras and other equipment, but I told her an hour ago she could leave. I liked working alone, being able to put headphones in and lose myself in work, even if it was something as mundane as organizing camera equipment.

Summer access was like the preseason for preseason - players could ease themselves into their workouts, conditioning and film study, but were still limited to eight hours per week. Walkthroughs, team and position meetings were added in 10 days, along with an additional 12 hours per week added to workouts and conditioning. Film study was still limited to two hours per week, but as expected, Reid Donahue ignored those regulations.

We hadn't really spoken since the 4th of July party, but I knew he'd also gone home to Charleston on the other side of the state for a week. Not that I'd been stalking his Instagram or anything.

Most of the team had taken part in weight training and conditioning that morning, and by late in the afternoon the complex had quieted down. When I stepped into the hallway and locked the door to the media offices, I could all but hear a pin drop.

As I made my way through the complex, the faintest sound of music seeped through the walls. The closer I got to the indoor practice field, the more familiar the music became, and after a few more steps, I recognized it as In Too Deep by Sum 41, and I smiled to myself.

The double doors leading to the practice field were cracked slightly ajar, just enough for me to peer inside. The music echoed off the sky high ceiling, along with an occasional thudding noise that sounded more like fireworks in the empty expanse. Any dummies and tackling equipment were lined up on the sidelines, so it wasn't like anybody was running drills.

At the 40 yard line was the hulking figure of Reid, alone save for a mesh bag of footballs. With perfect form he heaved the ball 60 yards downfield into a big net with little holes for him to slot his passes into with surgical precision.

As he bent over to pick up another football, he swayed his shoulders to the song still thumping through the speakers in the corners of the field. I slipped through the crack in the door and made my way to the corner of the field, and as I got closer I realized he was actually singing. Badly, but endearing nonetheless.

Maybe we're just trying too hard

When really, it's closer than it is too far

'Cause I'm in too deep, and I'm trying to keep

Up above in my head, instead of going under

He bounced around on his toes to the beat, still singing to himself as he tossed another ball downfield. When he wheeled around on his heel to pick up another ball, he finally caught sight of me and nearly jumped out of his cleats.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he hissed out, his southern drawl more apparent when he swore. "Do you plan your ambushes? You know, if you wanna come talk to me like a normal person, you can."

I met his jab with a smile. "Actually, I heard the music first and wanted to know who was playing it."

Reid arched an eyebrow at me, his cheeks pink from either exertion or embarrassment. He pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket and lowered the volume. "It's uh...Sum 41."

"I understand," I reassured him, still grinning. "I mean, you can't really hum to Sum 41. It's a classic."

He blew out a relieved sigh, raking a hand through his hand. "No, it's a...belting your heart out song, for sure."

I shrugged and took a measured step towards him. "Although, I'll admit I kind of assumed you'd be a take me home country roads boy."

This time he took a step, his stride covering double the distance mine could, and before I knew it we were less than an arms width apart - my arms width, not his. He poked me with the tip of the football.

"You know what they say when you assume," he chided with a smirk.

"Yeah, yeah," I waved him off. "You make an ass out of you and me."

He chuckled, but my smile faltered. Sure, Reid and I had developed a mutual understanding a few weeks ago, but now it seemed to morph into something more concrete. Something like mutual respect.

So, I resigned myself to some pride-swallowing. I gently lifted the football out of his hands and tried to spin it against my palm like he did, admittedly with difficulty. "So, I've been thinking about this after we spoke on 4th of July, about that day in spin class...if I pushed you too hard, I hope you know that that wasn't my intention."

Reid smirked faintly as he took the football back, spinning it effortlessly. "Honestly, I would have done it anyway. You can't really carve out competitiveness in someone's nature, even if their body begs them to."

"I get it." I nodded. "I mean not in the same way since I'm not a D1 athlete, but I like winning."

Reid barked out a laugh. "No shit, really."

I laughed with him, and relief flooded through me. I generally operated as a realist - I wasn't negative, but I also never assumed anything would be easy, especially not in the field of work I wanted to be in. But things were finally starting to slot themselves into place, and for once, I felt like I could be optimistic.

Reid backpedaled about 10 yards and tossed me the ball underhanded. "But if you feel like you owe me something, you could, uh...catch a few balls for me."

"You dropping yours a lot lately?" I chuckled.

Reid rolled his eyes. "You knew what I meant."

"Doesn't mean I can't tease you when you set yourself up for it."

Since it was a regulation-sized football, I could barely wrap my fingers halfway around it, so I just did my best to throw him a clean spiral.

He caught it one-handed.

I scoffed and shook my head. Show-off.

He gave me an innocent shrug (and for a moment I panicked that I had said my thoughts out loud again) before going through his throwing motion slowly and tossing me the ball. It wasn't like I'd never seen him throw a ball before, but every movement, no matter how casual, was executed with effortless perfection. It came as naturally to him as waves lapping on the beach. The ocean wasn't showing off when it did that, it was just its natural gift.

And just like the ocean, Reid was in constant motion, rocking around on his toes and swinging his arms back and forth. "You know, you're gonna be doing all this stuff about me, but I don't really know that much about you."

I took my time lining my fingers up on the laces of the ball. "What happened to you're not that hard to figure out."

"Yeah I meant like, personality wise. But I don't really know stuff about you."

"Do you need to?" I asked as I finally released the ball.

He gave me a casual shrug. "I'd like to."

I felt my heart stutter-step for just a moment before returning to normal pace, and I quickly tossed the ball back to him. "Okay, compromise. Football related questions only. Person with the ball has to answer."

I instantly regretted that as he quickly tossed me the ball, and it slipped right through my hands and bounced onto the turf.

"I set myself up for that one," I grumbled as I picked the ball up.

"I'll go easy on you," he smirked. "Favorite NFL team?"

"Giants. Unfortunate allegiance as of late," I replied as I threw the ball back to him. "You?"

"Colts," he replied as he caught it.

"Really? Not what I expected."

Reid looked down at the ball as he delicately placed his fingers along the laces. "Yeah well, there's no pro teams in South Carolina, and I wanted to be Peyton Manning when I was a kid. I had a big life-sized poster of him in my room growing up."

He threw me back the ball, and I had a brief, amusing thought of little pop-warner Reid yelling Omaha Omaha to emulate Peyton Manning at the line of scrimmage to a bunch of confused kids.

"You said when you were a kid." I slowly spun the ball between my hands. "Who do you want to be now?"

"Nuh uh," Reid shook his head. "Person with the ball has to answer. All-time favorite non-quarterback player."

I frowned. "Really making me think, huh?"

I didn't have particularly fond memories of watching football with my dad like I imagined Reid did - not that I had bad memories, but rather I had none. My dad preferred baseball and tennis, and those things never stuck with me. Instead, I watched football at my grandparent's house, and my grandpa was the one that instilled a love of the New York Giants in me. But he also instilled a love of the game itself and its history, including its historically iconic players and what they did for the game.

"I'm gonna go with Primetime," I finally said as I threw the ball back. It slipped out of my hands and went ten feet left of Reid. His reflexes kicked in as he lunged to the side and still somehow caught it.

"Deion Sanders?" He looked pleasantly surprised. "Good answer."

I sighed and rolled the sleeves of my vintage Clemson crewneck up. Despite the indoor practice field constantly pumping out AC, my body felt like it was starting to cook.

"I stand by the question I asked you before," I said as I crossed my arms over my chest. "Who do you want to be now?"

Reid shook his head and let out a hollow chuckle. "Shouldn't you be writing all this down or something?"

I smirked and tapped my temple with my finger. "Got it all up here. Besides, you have the ball, so you have to answer. Stop deflecting."

Reid groaned and kicked at a piece of turf with his cleats. "I just wanna be me, ya know? I guess it sounds dumb when I say it out loud, but I'm already tired of hearing all the comparisons with pro quarterbacks about who I throw like and who I scramble like, even who I trash talk like. It's...a lot."

I wasn't sure what I'd expected his response to be, but he wasn't wrong. Imagine being unwillingly told by so-called "experts" that you played like Cam Newton in his MVP year, and now all of a sudden if you don't live up to exactly that, you've failed.

"Well, then I guess you're gonna show them this year exactly who the hell Reid Donahue is." 

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boy throwing football is nice to look at !

am i jo or is jo me? deep life questions i am asking myself tonight (except i am actually the colts fan). i just poured all of my football nonsense into jo <3