Hiruma was in the weight room of the school gym doing some reps on the chest press. Sets of twelve and twenty-five, twenty-five and twelve, the date of the Christmas Bowl. In his lap was an article on Terell Owens, the star receiver for the Dallas Cowboys. Initially recruited by the San Francisco 49'ers, there was a lot of media hype last year when he tried to break his contract with the Eagles, and ended up going from making $49 million in seven years with a $10 million signing bonus to making $25 million in one. But that wasn't the part that interested him. Money was just numbers, and numbers could be manipulated. He was looking at the stats.
Terell was a favourite of his because his abrasive personality got him attention and made people sit up and look at what an artist he was. The only receiver besides Jerry Rice to have five or more seasons with thirteen or more receiving touchdowns in a regular season... one hundred and sixteen total touchdowns, one hundred and fourteen receiving and two rushing. Hiruma breathed out and let the weights fall with a resounding clank—it was bad etiquette and bad for the machine, but no-one else was around anyway because the school was technically closed. He wiped at the back of his neck with a towel and stood to stretch in front of the mirror.
One hundred catches in only fourteen games in 2002 and seven 1000 yard seasons. So what if he did that racy commercial with that middle-aged chick, and made the news with that spitting incident, and the so-called suicide attempt? Football was also part psychology, and T.O. was a monster any quarterback could be proud of. Although if Eyeshield started insulting Hiruma to the press, that kid would be dead before he could even think of an apology.
Speaking of which, what was with that little brat yesterday? That incident in the clubhouse had been... disturbing, to say the least. He supposed he should have been flattered, except it had to make him wonder—where had the shrimp gotten those ideas from? Had he been doing anything especially... provocative, lately? Hiruma placed his left elbow behind his head and used his right to gently pull it up until he felt the stretch in his tricep. He counted to thirty and bent for a drink from his water bottle. When he looked up, he nearly screamed.
"Fucking... manager. What are you doing here?" It was half past midnight, and he was only able to get in because Doburoku was the janitor, and that old souse knew better than to refuse him a set of keys.
"Hiruma-kun, you should be sleeping!" Mamori snapped. "Also, exercising by yourself is dangerous. You could hurt yourself and nobody would find you until the morning!"
"The fucking risk is pretty small," Hiruma replied carefully. But there was something weird about Anezaki's face that reminded him of the pipsqueak's last night. Oh, damn. Was there something in the water he didn't know about?! What was with everyone lately? "But you know what, I've had a fucking change of heart! I see you're worried and I'll just... go now, and you can go too--"
Mamori caught his jaw in one hand, clamping his mouth shut. "Hush, don't say anything—that would stop you from being who you are!" Hiruma froze, caught speechless now for the second time in a row and not exactly happy with it. He considered backhanding the bitch across the face, but having a manager wandering around with a black eye would certainly raise questions and that was a complication that he didn't exactly need to throw into the team dynamic right now, not when people were finally starting to get along. Also, he guessed they were sort of friends or some shit like that, and girls didn't let that kind of stuff go the same way that guys did...
Mamori pressed him up against the mirrors. Hiruma made a choking noise as the stretching bar jabbed into his spine. "You know, I've seen you watching me. I know... you want me. And I guess I came to say... I want you too."
"What?!" Hiruma sputtered. He wished he'd remembered to bring one of his guns. This was really getting-- Mamori kissed him and pressed her C-36 inch tits up against his sweaty undershirt. Hiruma groaned. Sure, she was hot, he wasn't blind or anything, but an uptight girl like this wasn't exactly his type--it would never work out...