Then we turn with the rest,
and Andrew's locked in?—
“Alright. Hand’s on the thigh.
“Startin’ at the forty yard line.”
I shoot a hand out in front of me.
“Field’s wide open. But if she cuts left,
“he’s fumbling the whole play.”
“Nah—bro’s confident,” he says.
“Look at the fantastic hand placement.”
I lean back an inch, cross my legs?—
“It may be too soon to tell, Harding.
“Let’s see if he follows through.”
Mikey chuckles into his drink.
“She’s literally the female Harding?—
“God help us all.”
Andrew gives Mikey a side-eye,
smirk tugging.
I sit up straighter. “He’s hangin’ on the sideline, lookin’ for an opening… Elbow’s down, wrist locked in. That’s a man who’s been here before.”
“Side of the thigh?” Andrew waves a hand.
“Outta bounds, bro. You flirtin’. Not playin’.”
Nico’s giggling.
Arms crossed.
Shoulders bouncing.
“Here we go.” Andrew claps,
then rubs his palms together.
“One more inch and we’re inside the ten...
“But if he don’t cut in soon, game over.”
Mikey slaps a fist against the cushion.
“Hurry, Nico—call it, man. Front or back?”
“Back,” Nico says.
