Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

https://www.sports-reference.com/cfb/pl ... elog/2025/

comparing yourself to fraudulent Mendoza doesn't win you any votes, my boy

respect

Not gonna force the crossover, gonna let it land naturally if it does down the line

don't run

almost played this game tonight but nah, i need that beginning of day energy, can't risk not giving yall boys that BELT (a lot of RPOs and mesh routes)

[Soapy]

Season 9, Episode 4
The cabin hummed like a lullaby nobody had asked for.

Brice shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him as he adjusted his neck pillow for the third time in twenty minutes. Shane was already out cold two seats over, mouth slightly open, headphones still on with whatever he’d been watching paused mid-scene on his tablet. Across the aisle, T.J. and Jaheim had their heads leaned together, talking in low voices about something Brice couldn’t make out and didn’t try to. The rest of the plane was a graveyard of sleeping bodies, guys sprawled across seats, hoodies pulled over their faces, some with blankets the flight attendants had handed out still folded neatly across their laps.

He pulled out his phone.

The screen lit up his face in the dim cabin. He scrolled past a few texts he’d already read, past a couple of emails from his advisor he’d respond to later, and opened Instagram.

The Virginia Tech quarterback dropped back, rolled right, and launched the ball downfield for another. The clip cut to another angle, then another, then another. Brice scrolled to the comments.

Heisman don’t @ me

Brand is HIM

he super tuff

Brice watched the entire reel. Then he watched it again. The second time through, he noticed the first clip was against Old Dominion. The deep ball was against Liberty. The scramble was against Old Dominion again. The touchdown pass over the middle was Liberty.

He let out a quiet breath through his nose and kept scrolling.

Tavien St. Clair came up next. Boise State’s quarterback took a snap, faked the handoff, and broke through the line untouched. He hit the sideline, turned on the jets, and outran three defenders who had angles on him.

Brice remembered him. Manning Passing Academy over the summer. A few years before that when they were in high school and camped together. He was committed to Ohio State. Obviously, couldn’t break through there and had to transfer to Boise. Good for him.

Brice scrolled to ESPN. Typed in A.J. Brand. The stats page loaded quickly. He looked at the screen for a few seconds. He pulled up Tavien St. Clair, misspelling his name three different ways before it came up. He went back to the main page. Typed in his name.

He looked at Brand’s numbers again. Then St. Clair’s. Then his own. Then Brand’s. Then St. Clair’s. Then his own.

Brice locked his phone and set it on the tray table. He looked out the window. Nothing but darkness and the occasional distant light below, too far away to identify as anything specific.

He picked the phone back up, unlocked it, and opened the stats page one more time.

His eyes moved across the numbers.

Then he closed the app, set the phone face-down on the tray table, and leaned his head back against the seat.

…

Floor-to-ceiling windows ran the length of the far wall, and through them downtown Los Angeles sprawled out. The sky was still that hazy gold that LA did at sunset, and the buildings caught the light and threw it back in pieces. She could see the US Bank Tower from here, the Wilshire Grand, the whole skyline stacked up against the mountains in the distance.

Serena dropped her bag and walked toward the window.

The champagne was already on ice. A silver bucket sitting on the desk with two flutes beside it, and next to that a folded card with her name written across the front in looping handwriting. She picked it up.

Welcome to Los Angeles, Serena. We hope you enjoy your stay.

She set it back down and pulled out her phone.

She took a picture of the room first, then the champagne, then the view from the window. She sent all three to the group chat with Sabrina and Kennedi.

Sabrina responded quickly.

You’re about to make me ruin Abdul’s night, girl

Kennedi sent the eye emoji followed by the money bag.

He did his big one with this one

Serena smiled and set the phone on the desk. She stood in front of the mirror above the minibar and checked herself. She angled the phone down slightly, catching the top of the champagne bucket in the frame but keeping most of the focus on herself. She took three. Deleted the first one. Deleted the second one. Kept the third.

She sent it to Brice.

She set the phone down on the desk and walked over to the window. The city was getting darker now, the gold fading into a deep blue at the edges, and the lights were starting to pop more against it. She could see cars moving along the freeway in long, slow ribbons of red and white.

Her phone didn’t buzz.

She gave it a minute. Picked it up. Checked the screen. She set it back down.

Maybe he was in meetings.

She opened Instagram, scrolled for a bit. Closed it. Opened Twitter. Closed it. Opened her camera roll and looked at the picture she’d sent him again.

She set the phone down and walked back to the window. She pressed her palm flat against the glass. It was cool against her skin.

She tried to orient herself, figure out which direction the Coliseum was, which direction the team would have booked their hotel. Downtown was to the east, she thought. Or was it south?

She scanned the skyline, as if she could spot him from there.

She pulled out her phone one more time. Still nothing.

…

Shane had the tablet propped on his chest, headphones in, the blue light of whatever he was watching flickering across his face in the dark room.

Brice sat at the desk with his laptop open, the playbook pulled up on one side of the screen and film on the other. The USC logo sat in the corner of the video player, but he wasn't watching USC.

He'd clicked out of that file twenty minutes ago.

The Wake Forest game filled the screen instead.

He found the drive. Inside the ten. He watched the play.

Then he dragged the cursor back.

He watched it again.

The room was quiet except for the faint sound of whatever Shane was watching leaking through his headphones and the soft click of Brice's trackpad.

He watched it again.

This time he let the clip continue a few seconds longer.

Then he dragged it back. His finger hovered over the trackpad.

One more time.

Brice leaned back in his chair.

Then closed the film.

He picked up his phone and opened his messages, scrolling down to one of the grad assistants. He typed something out. Sent it. Set the phone face-down on the desk.

He opened Instagram. Scrolled through a few posts from people he followed. He opened Twitter. The algorithm fed him football content. Highlights from that night’s Oregon - Oregon State game. Somebody’s breakdown of Texas’ offensive line. A thread ranking the top five quarterbacks through two weeks.

He opened the thread. He read it. He closed the app.

He looked out the window. He could see the lights of the freeway stretching out in both directions. The sky was black above the city, no stars, just the orange glow of light pollution hanging over everything.

His phone buzzed on the desk.

He picked it up. A link to an email. Brice opened it.

The file downloaded. He clicked it.

The video loaded. The Michigan logo sat in the corner of the screen.

…

She slipped into one of the dresses she had packed but never got to wear in the Bahamas. She spritzed the perfume on her wrists and behind her ears.

The restaurant was on the second floor. She took the elevator down and followed the signs through a hallway lined with black and white photographs of old Hollywood, past a bar where a couple was laughing over drinks, the woman’s hand resting on the man’s forearm.

The hostess looked up as Serena approached.

“Just one tonight?” she asked.

“Just one,” Serena said.

The hostess smiled and picked up a menu. “Right this way.”

She led Serena to a table near the window. Not the best table in the room, those were all taken, but a good one.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess said, setting the menu down. “Enjoy.”

Serena opened the menu. She scanned the options. Everything felt like a riddle. She couldn’t find a number anywhere.

A server appeared at her elbow.

“Welcome. Can I start you with something to drink?”

“Just water for now,” Serena said. “How’s the salmon?”

“It would be an excellent choice.”

He disappeared. Serena set the menu down and looked around.

Low lighting with candles on every table. The couple at the table next to hers were sharing a dessert, the woman feeding the man a bite off her fork while he laughed. Two tables over, a group of four was deep in conversation, wine glasses clinking. An older man sat alone at the bar reading something on his phone, a whiskey in front of him.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch. She pulled it out.

How’s dinner?

About to find out. Looks good though. No prices on the menu lol

bitch you know what that means then

Serena laughed quietly and set the phone down.

The salmon arrived. It looked more like art than a meal. A perfect rectangle of fish sitting on top of some kind of green purée, with tiny roasted vegetables scattered around it and a drizzle of something dark and glossy across the top. The portion was maybe the size of her palm.

She took a picture before she ate.

The server checked on her twice. She ordered a peach Bellini the second time. Then another. A third for good measure before desert came. A chocolate item that came in a tiny ceramic pot, topped with something called quenelle that she had to look up before ordering it.

The check came on a leather folder. She opened it out of curiosity and entered her room number before closing it.

The server took it away and returned it signed. “Thank you so much. We hope to see you again.”

“Thank you,” Serena said.

She stood, smoothed her dress, and walked back through the restaurant. The couple at the next table was still there, the woman’s head resting on the man’s shoulder now. The group of four was ordering another round. The man at the bar had put his phone away and was talking to the bartender.

Serena took the elevator down to the lobby and walked past the restaurant entrance toward the back of the building where she’d seen a small market earlier. She grabbed a basket. A bag of chips. A bottle of water. She set them on the counter. The cashier rang her up without looking up from her phone.

Serena tapped her card and took the bag.

The elevator ride back up was quiet. She walked down the hallway to her room, the plastic bag rustling against her leg. She used the key card, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

She sat on the edge of the bed, opened the bag of chips, and pulled out her phone.

She took a chip. Crunched it. Scrolled through Instagram. Ate another chip. She set the bag down and walked over to the window. She picked up her phone and opened her camera roll. Found the picture she’d sent him. Looked at it for a moment.

Her phone buzzed.

A smile crossed her face.

[redsox907]

Brice flies his girl across the country to treat her like a booty call

[Captain Canada]

Serena lonely as hell, may as well have not gone at that point if you can't at least bring a friend

[Soapy]

Brice flies his girl across the country to treat her like a booty call

That's a bit harsh but fair given his reputation. However, logistically, he wasn't going to be able to see her. He just still wanted here there (message)

Serena lonely as hell, may as well have not gone at that point if you can't at least bring a friend

Again, valid but how many 21 year olds are turning down an expenses paid trip to Los Angeles to watch a football game?

[Caesar]

Lost in the sauce. Future Candace Owens over here.

[djp73]

[Soapy]

Lost in the sauce. Future Candace Owens over here.

context?

[Soapy]

appreciate the free bump

[Soapy]

che guerra a hoe