Okay, I’m pumped for this idea now.
Granted, making this new proposal idea happen the way I’menvisioning it isn’t something I can control. No football player on Planet Earth possibly could. That’s why we play the games, after all. Because anything can happen. But isn’t the uncertainty of it all even more reason for me to set my sights on at leasttryingto make this once-in-a-lifetime scenario happen? Won’t working toward that dream scenario only give me evenmoremotivation to fulfill my ultimate professional goal? Frankly, it seems like a win-win to me. The perfect idea.
“Can wepleasego see Pepper now?” Maverick whines, flailing his arms and wiggling his little body with extreme impatience.
“And the whole ranch, too,” Iris interjects. “I’d love to take a stroll around the whole property, now that I know it’s ours.”
Ours.Her word choice doesn’t escape my notice. I’m pretty sure I told Iris the place ishers.And yet, Iris being Iris, she’s converted my phrasing into something shared and co-owned. In reality, I put this place in both our names, of course. So, technically, legally, she’s right: It’s ours. I mean, I’m not a complete idiot. But in a practical, daily sense, it’s all hers, as far as I’m concerned. From this day forward, I plan to be nothing but her angel investor.
“Let’s do it,” I say. “The lady who sold me the ranch said she’s standing by to give us a full tour.”
Iris and Maverick express excitement, and we begin quickly cleaning up the remnants of our picnic. Midway through our task, however, I touch Iris’s arm, commanding her full attention.
I might not be proposing today after all, but I’m sure as hell not leaving here without Iris knowing she’s my future wife. “I figured my birthday gift would make my commitment to you crystal clear,” I say, a surprising tremble in my voice. “But just in case there’s room for any doubt, let me say this expressly to you now: Iris Benedetto, I love you. I admire you. Like you. Respect you.” I take a deep breath. “I have full faith in our love, without a singledoubt. And I’m positive we’re going to be together, happily,forever.”
Chapter 36
Iris
It’s Sunday night.
An away game for the Thunderbolts.
And our opponent is Roman’s former team in Baltimore: the Crusaders.
I’m seated alongside Ava and Edward for the big game in the Crusaders’ stadium—the same place where Roman gave his blood, sweat, and tears to his teammates, fans, and coaches for eleven excruciating years. Mostly, Roman poured his heart out to raucous cheers and support, but, sometimes, especially toward the end of his career here, he did it to boos and jeers from turncoat “fans” who’d decided Roman Maguire hadn’t lived up to his talents and potential.
Not surprisingly, Roman wants to win this game, badly. In fact, he desperately wants to deliver a beatdown of epic proportions to his former team. Can’t say I blame him. I’d want to shut up all the naysayers, meanies, and haters in my old stomping grounds, too.
I look at the pregame clock underneath the big screen, and when another wave of anxiety shocks through me, I gulp my drink to calm my nerves.
As I bring my cup to my lips, Ava, sitting next to me, points at my cup. “Vodka cranberry with a twist?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good girl.” She holds up her own cup. “Gin and tonic, of course. I’m always doing my part.”
We clink and drink.
Holy mother of pearl, I’m sick to death of vodka cranberrieswith a fucking twist by now. But because that random, spur-of-the-moment decision to copy everything Nicola did during the Thunderbolts’ dominating, crushing victory during week one, it’s now inked onto the List of Things Iris Absolutely Must Do During Every Game in Support of Roman. My God, football people are superstitious motherfuckers.
I mean, vodka cranberries are pleasant enough. But they’re not my favorite. Especially now that I’m notallowedto drink anything else during games. The good news is that when I confessed my increasing disenchantment with vodka crans to my football mentor, Luca, he assured me the “we must do everything, exactly the same as we did during the first win” clock resets, so to speak, either once we reach the playoffs or with the start of each new season. So at least I know I won’t be stuck with vodka cranberries forever.
Speaking of Luca, he’s not here tonight, but for a fabulous reason: He played in his team’s winning game earlier today. That’s right. Recently, our beloved, hardworking, keeping-his-chin-up Lucafinallygot promoted from his team’s practice squad to their fifty-three-man roster—and he’s been kicking ass ever since.
Levi and Marco aren’t here, either, by the way, since both men played for their respective teams today. Maverick’s not here, either. Although he never travels to away games anyway. In this case, however, it wouldn’t have been possible regardless. Vanessa got a big job in Vancouver for the next three weeks, so Maverick traveled with his excited mommy.
“They’re taking the field,” Edward mutters. When he points, it’s to Roman and his teammates as they amble toward the sideline in full uniform. The visiting team never gets a fancy introduction, so it’s not unusual to find them wandering onto the field unannounced. Whatisunusual, however, is the way the crowd is reacting to the opposing quarterback’s appearance.At their first sight of Roman, a large smattering of the hometown crowd—the minority, I’d say—has started applauding their former star quarterback, presumably to thank him for his years of stellar service. The majority of the crowd, however, has started booing Roman.Loudly.In fact, as their negativity gains steam, their boos are becoming a virtual cacophony.
Roman doesn’t react to crowd, of course. He’s got his game face on down there as he confers with Coach Hardy on the sideline. But even if he’s not bothered by the fans’ lack of sportsmanship, I am. In fact, I’m livid. Ready to throw down on his behalf. How dare these people abuse my boyfriend like this, after everything he’s done for them and this city! Not only on the field, but for schools and charities, too! Do these people have amnesia, or are they simply heartless and cruel toward someone who poured his heart out for them, week after week, year in and year out, for eleven freaking years?
Ava pats my hand, apparently reacting to my furious body language. “Don’t worry about any of that, sweetie. Roman will use the boos to fuel his competitive tank that much more.”
“Absolutely,” Edward seconds with a decisive nod. “Romie loves proving the naysayers wrong more than anything. Trust me, he’s going to enjoy shutting them all up.”
God, I hope he’s right.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” a deep-voiced announcer booms over the stadium’s sound system. “Get on your feet, and let’s hear it for your Crusaderrrrssssss!”
