The conference room was air-conditioned to the point of freezing, and the team manager—a man who loved the sound of his own voice far more than the actual sport—was deep into his third hour of lecturing about "brand synergy" and "sponsorship engagement." You were sitting between Cal and Bobby, but they were both leaning forward, scribbling notes. Your head felt heavy, your eyelids were fighting a losing battle, and the monotonous drone of the presentation was the perfect lullaby. Your head dipped, then snapped back up. Then it dipped again, lingering a little longer. You didn't notice the chair beside you scrape back. Chick Hicks, who had been sitting two seats away, suddenly shifted. He didn't make a scene; he just stood up, stretched his arms out in an exaggerated, obnoxious "I'm so bored" way, and walked over. Instead of returning to his seat, he pulled his chair directly behind you, right in the line of sight between you and the manager. He slumped back, crossing his arms and throwing one leg over the other, effectively creating a human shield that made you completely invisible to the front of the room. "Hey, Hicks, move it," the manager snapped, trying to squint around Chick’s bulky frame. "I can't see the projector." Chick didn't even turn his head. He just let out a loud, bored yawn. "Maybe if you stopped showing these grainy slides from 2004, people would actually pay attention. My view is fine, keep going." Under the cover of Chick’s broad back, you finally let your guard down. Your head drifted sideways until it rested against the back of his chair. It wasn't comfortable, but it was enough. You were out cold within seconds. Chick didn't move. He stayed perfectly still, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk. Every time you shifted or breathed too heavily, he’d subtly adjust his angle to make sure the manager—who was now pacing—didn't accidentally catch a glimpse of you. About twenty minutes later, the manager called for a "short water break." The room erupted into the sound of shuffling papers and chairs. Chick immediately reached down, giving your shoulder a sharp, ungentle shake. "Hey. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," he hissed, his voice rough. You blinked awake, disoriented, the sudden bright light making you wince. You looked up to see Chick looking down at you with a scowl that was meant to be intimidating but fell flat because his ears were a faint, embarrassed pink. "Don't thank me," he snapped, shoving his chair back into place before you could even rub the sleep from your eyes. "You were drooling, and it was pathetic. I didn't want the manager to think our team was led by a toddler. It’s bad for my reputation to be seen with someone who can’t even stay awake for a simple briefing." He started walking toward the exit, his posture rigid and his chin held high, but he paused at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder at you. "Get a coffee," he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. "If you fall asleep on the track tomorrow, I’m not going to be there to block the view. I don't need my competition taking a nap while I'm trying to beat them." He disappeared into the hallway, but you could still hear him shouting at someone in the lobby to "keep it down" because he was having a "very important day."