Immersed in his drill, Frank's young mind was completely ignorant of the conversation between his Head Coach and the intriguing young woman. Dropping back to pass he knew, just somehow knew, that someone had gotten free of his line, without any warning he spun quickly to his left and to the back, deftly evading one of the scout team line backers, sending him hurdling to the ground. Cocking his arm he nails the wide open Tight End streaking across the field. Grinning arrogantly down at the sophomore on the ground, he shrugs his broad shoulders, "Better luck next time mate." He laughs as the player grunts and heads back to his own huddle.
Laughing with his friends on the varisty squad he tilts his head to the side as he hears the short, sharp whistle that his Coach uses when he wants Frank's attention. Shrugging his shoulders yet again, he trots over. Taking off his helmet, his jet black hair shining in the fading sun. Running a hand through it he smiles politely, if impatiently over at to you and inclines his head, "Miss."
Turning to the bear of a man, his coach, "Yes, sir?" His expression curious as to when the recruiter would be showing up.