Laughter erupts between my teammates.
This is it, this is the only place my brain shuts the fuck up.
No pressure. No headlines.
Just brotherhood, shit talking, and the adrenaline in my veins.
Whistle blows, play’s dead, and everyone’s jogging back to reset. I’m supposed to be reviewing coverages, thinking about throwing mechanics, doing all the boring quarterback shit.
But my brain?
Mmmmmm, my brain is telling me to fuck around.
You may be the quarterback, Hayes, but let’s show these fuckers you can still tackle.
JP’s jogging backwards a few yards ahead, cocky grin plastered across his face, helmet bobbing.
Let’s take this fucker out.
I take off in a dead sprint.
“Don’t you da—” JP starts, but it’s too late.
I lower my shoulder and boom, we’re both on the turf, cleats flying. He hits the ground with a grunt, grass shooting up around us. I land square on top of him, straddling his waist, smacking his helmet as he lies there.
“QB1, baby!” I roar, throwing my arms up. My helmet tilts back, sweat dripping down my face, but I don’t care, I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
JP groans, struggling under me. “Get the fuck off me, Hayes!”
I lean down, still cackling, my hands braced on his chest plate. “You like that, baby? Me straddling you like this?”
The entire field loses it.
Pierce drops his helmet, doubled over, smacking the turf as he wheezes. A couple of linemen are on their knees, howling. Even the trainers on the sideline are howling with laughter.
JP’s face is red as hell inside his facemask. He shoves at me, but he’s laughing too. “This is harassment! Help!”
“You’ve dreamt of this moment,” I taunt, shaking his pads while straddling him like a jackass. “Dreamt of Daddy Hayes riding you into the dirt.”
“Dreamt of you throwing me the ball, and not missing like a fucking old man!” He finally gets leverage and shoves me hard. I roll off, landing on my back in the grass, my arms spread wide.
“Worth it,” I wheeze, grass stuck to my sweaty face.
Pierce jogs over, shaking his head with a grin that says he’s loving every second. “Bro, what is wrong with you? Quarterbacks don’t tackle. You’re supposed to be protected.”
I sit up, grinning feral, pointing at JP. “This quarterback does. QB1, baby. Versatile as fuck.”
JP’s still brushing dirt off his pads, chuckling under his breath. “Swear to God, Hayes, one of these days I’m putting you on your ass in front of everyone.”
I waggle my brows, still laughing. “And when you do, I’ll scream your name from the fifty-yard line.”
The team erupts again, guys hooting and hollering, talking their shit.
I fucking live for this, the sportsmanship, the brotherhood of it all.
It was going fine and dandy until my eyes landed on her.
Maggie.
