Coop elbows me in the ribs. “Have a little faith, fucknuts. Carter is money.”
It’s New Year’s Eve and the Clemson game has been a knock-down, drag-out slugfest. My ribs are sore as fuck, I’ve got blood and sweat dripping in my eyes from a nasty cut I got in the third quarter and my heart is about to beat the fuck out of my chest because it’s a tie game and there are only twenty-six seconds left on the clock.
“She’s got this. She’s a solid ninety-three percent inside the thirty-five,” Reid says. “From the forty-five with no wind? She’s a solid seventy-nine.”
“Of course you know her stats.” I roll my eyes, but leave it at that. No way am I going to remind him that a missed forty-six yard field goal contributed to our one and only loss of the season. He’s right. That was a fluke, and we all made mistakes that day. Carter’s solid. She’ll get it done.
Still, my gut hardens as Special Teams takes the field.
We’re so close to the championship game I can taste it.
“No need to get jealous.” Reid hooks his fingers in the collar of his jersey. “I know your stats, too, Catman.”
I raise my hand to flip him the bird, but then I remember we’re on national tv.
Catman. Thanks to Coop, it’s my new nickname around the house. Like Batman. But with a cat. You know, because I was fucking the Wildcat.
Yeah, make that make sense.
Whatever. I have no shame about my Wildcat exploits. I’m dating the coolest chick on campus, the sex is hot as fuck, and whether we win or lose tonight, I get to ring in the new year with the woman I love.
“Here we go,” Vaughn says as our long snapper moves into position.
Adrenaline courses through my veins and it’s all I can do to stand still as Carter walks off the steps, preparing to make the kick.
Seconds tick by on the play clock and then the ball is snapped. James, our punter, snatches the ball from the air and places it laces up in the grass. Carter is already moving, one short step followed by two long ones.
Come on, Carter. You’ve got this.
Her leg powers forward, foot connecting with the ball and sending it arcing into the air. It’s a long ass kick and I follow the trajectory, heart racing, as it sails through the air and between the uprights.
HOLY SHIT!
She did it. We did it!
We’re going to the championship game.
Cheers erupt throughout the stadium, the noise reaching a fever pitch as my teammates and I celebrate on the sideline.
There are still a few seconds on the clock, but that field goal was the nail in the coffin for Clemson. Langley and his boys have been on tonight and our D will shut them down.
Carter joins us on the sideline and before she can even remove her helmet, Reid scoops her up and spins her around. “Game MVP right here!”
“Was there ever any doubt?” she shouts.
The moment is surreal and when the clock runs out and the fans rush the field, I remain on the sideline. There’s only one person I need to see, and she knows right where to find me.
Sutton leaps over the railing, landing gracefully before me. When she straightens, I notice she’s wearing a Wildcat jersey. It must be new. I’ve never seen it before.
She follows my gaze and then a mischievous smile curves those gorgeous lips. “You should see the back.”
I twirl my finger in the air and she spins, flipping her hair and looking back at me over her shoulder. It’s the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen and when I read the name printed on the back of her jersey, my cock stiffens.
Parker.
“You look good in my jersey.”
“Glad you like it.” She sashays over and stretches up on her tip-toes, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Some guys like lingerie, but I thought this was more our style.”
