Dawson rolled his eyes. “You’re the biggest gossip on this team, and I want you to know, that’s really saying something, considering who else wears a Thunder uniform.”
“Thanks,” Marty said.
“That wasn’t a compliment—”
“Kinda was, whether you meant it or not.”
“Was there anything you actually needed besides harassing me about how much me and Cam are hanging out?”
“Not really,” Marty said, shooting Dawson a big dumb smile, when the opposite was much more accurate.
“You scare me,” Dawson joked. It wasmostlya joke, anyway.
“Good,” Marty said, grinning. He tilted his head up, feeling the breeze coming in. “Watch out for the breeze swirling at the west end of the stadium, if you end up kicking that way. Wind comes right off the lake and it can be unpredictable.”
“Got it,” Dawson said. He was tempted to remind Marty that he’d said the same thing before every home game they’d played so far, but he had a feeling Marty actually meant something else entirely.
“’Course you do,” Marty said gruffly, patting Dawson on the back before heading over to the bench to where Shane, the defensive coordinator, was leaning against the metal slats.
A second later Cam appeared in his sight line, jogging back from his little meeting with the Texans’ punter. “Everything good?” he asked.
“Just Marty reminding me about things I already know.”
“Like how freaking amazing you are?” Cam teased.
“Kinda, yeah. I think.”
Cam grinned. “Good. Means I don’t have to do it, too.” He nudged Dawson’s arm with his elbow. “It’s time to admit it, Hall. You’re pretty fucking amazing.” He dropped his voice to something softer and quieter. “And on top of that, you’re pretty fucking hot, too.”
Dawson couldn’t help the laugh that startled out of him.
“Too much?” Cam sounded delighted that it might have been.
“Too much. Way too much.” But he was smiling too, now, and when the game started, Dawson had to admit that he felt more relaxed, none of that crawling anxiety between his shoulder blades that he’d felt during every single kickoff this season.
He was still on his game—focus came too naturally to him by now for him tonotbe—but he wasn’t in his own head about it.
From his spot on the sideline, Dawson watched as Aidan and the offense drove down the field. It wasn’t as seamless as some of the earlier Thunder teams Aidan had played on, but this particular team felt grittier. Acker, the right tackle, got a holding penalty, but then they pushed through, getting two big passes to the tight ends, Lane catching one for thirteen yards and Trevor getting the first down on the next play.
Every time it seemed like they were going to stall out—a sack happened, despite Levi and the offensive line’s best effort to keep the defense out of the backfield, or an incomplete pass, or a rush attempt that went nowhere—they fought back.
This team was beginning to look tough. Took a hit to the chin, but they still kept coming.
They’d made it to the red zone when Cam wandered over. Dawson had noticed him glancing over every so often and had been expecting it. He’d actually waited longer than Dawson had anticipated.
“You ever think it’s weird that when things are going well, they don’t really need us?” Cam asked.
Dawson laughed. “Yeah, a lot of hurry up and wait.”
“Guess we can kick the extra point if they get in,” Cam said and held up his hands in mock surrender as Dawson shot him a half-hearted glare. “Yeah, I know all about jinxing, you don’t need to lecture me about it.”
“You don’t believe in it?” Dawson had never met another football player—especially anotherspecial teamsfootball player—that wasn’t superstitious to a painful extent.
“Hell no,” Cam declared. “If I can touch it and feel it and make it happen, then it’s real. If it’s not, then it’s not important. Just something in my head that I can tell to fuck off.”
“You’re crazy. Totally fucking crazy,” Dawson said, shaking his head.
“Fornotbelieving in superstition? Kind of the opposite, isn’t it?” Cam was smiling, still, though Dawson was kind of beginning to believe that he couldn’t really do anything else.
