If he spent more time training and less time being an asshole, maybe we wouldn’t be in this position, but football is a team sport, so I keep my opinion to myself. Blaming the defense for giving up another TD every time we score won’t solve anything and from the looks of it, the Defensive Coordinator is ready to give Langley and his boys a proper ass chewing when they come off the field.
Serves the prick right.
It’s guys like him that give the sport, and its athletes, a bad name. He’s a fucking misogynist. It was bad enough when he was giving the gymnasts—giving Sutton—shit, but he’s been a real douche to our new kicker too, like it’s some kind of flex to be a raging dick.
“Is it me, or does the Wildcat look like he’s stoned?” Coop asks, yanking me back to the present. He jerks his chin toward the scoreboard where the Waverly mascot is on camera looking confused as fuck.
Quite a feat, considering its face never actually changes.
“Beats me.” I turn toward the cheerleaders and spot the Wildcat prowling up and down the sideline, tail blowing in the breeze. “But he definitely looks smaller. Maybe they got someone new this year?”
Vaughn, who’s on my other side, grunts. “No way. They do a big reveal when the mascot graduates. No reveal, no new mascot.”
“Really?” Our D stuffs the Idaho quarterback—it’s about fucking time—and I watch as the Wildcat lifts his arms, encouraging the crowd to get loud. “How do you know?”
Vaughn pulls a face. “The real question is, how do you not know? It’s tradition.”
“Because, Hermione, I’m not interested in filling my head with shit that doesn’t affect me.”
Vaughn ignores the dig. “Trust me. It’s got to be the same dude as last year.”
Swear to Christ, sometimes Vaughn just makes it too easy. “Pretty sexist of you to assume it’s a dude. It could just as easily be a chick.”
This time, it’s Coop who answers. “How many chicks do you know that can do fifty one-armed pushups?” Vaughn opens his mouth to answer, but Coop cuts him off. “Besides Vaughn’s mama.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Vaughn retorts, hooking his fingers in the front of his jersey. “She could kick your skinny ass.”
I snort-laugh. “I’ll take that bet. Our boy would tap out the moment he broke a nail.”
“Fuck you. I don’t give a shit about my nails.” Coop smirks. “This face, on the other hand...”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re the prettiest girl at the party,” Reid says, slapping Coop on the back as he joins us. “But since that won’t help us win the game, maybe you could focus on getting your ass into the end zone.”
Coop shrugs. “I could, but then Langley would just give up another TD and we’d be right back where we started.”
Leave it to Coop to say what we’re all thinking.
Reid shoots him a look. “Then I guess it’s a good thing this will be our last possession. We need to make it count.”
“Hell yeah.” I pull on my helmet, adrenaline pumping through my veins as the defense jogs off the field and special teams takes their place. “Let’s bring it home, boys.”
The tension on the sideline is palpable as Idaho’s punter takes possession of the ball. Like everyone else, my eyes are glued to the field, but in my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of Coach. He’s waving that damn clipboard, but it’s too loud to hear what he’s saying as he gestures to the field.
Idaho punts and it’s a hell of a good kick, coming down inside the five-yard line. Our guy catches the ball and runs it back to the thirty-five, dodging and weaving, before he’s tackled.
Sixty-five yards to victory.
The Wildcat roar fills the stadium and then Wildcat Nation is on their feet, screaming and stomping as the offensive line takes the field. My heart is pounding and my breaths come hard and fast as I take my place on the line of scrimmage.
There’s nothing quite like the feeling of hearing one hundred and three thousand people cheering you to victory.
It’s a fucking trip.
The play clock ticks down and silence falls over the stadium as Reid calls the play.
The ball is snapped and I explode, sprinting past the linebacker who’s supposed to be covering me. I cut across the field, my cleats digging into the soft grass, and when I’m near the center, I turn, finding Reid.
He fires a bullet right to me and I snatch the ball out of the air without breaking stride. I throw up an arm to block against the incoming safety and manage to grab an extra yard before he takes me down on the forty-seven.
