Closing my eyes, I pushed in closer. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
?Chapter Twenty-Eight
?Taryn
“Nice sweatshirt,” Zoesaid as she caught sight of the back of my hoodie when we met at the stadium before the game.
I spun in a circle with my arms out, showing off. “Yeah. Some hot football player gave it to me.”
Her warm smile said my friend approved. Slipping her arm through mine, she tugged me along to the security gate. “I’m so happy the two of you finally stopped dancing around each other and started dating for real.” Wrinkling her nose, she added, “Though it took you long enough.”
“Aw, Zoe. You’re such a romantic.”
“Do you have your own cowbell tucked away in there?” She indicated the blanket draped over my arm.
Patting the wide pocket on the front of my sweatshirt, I said, “It’s right here. When Danny scores his first touchdown, be prepared for a scene.” I smirked.
“I’ll make sure it’s over-the-top.” She smirked back.
Even though the temperatures hinted that winter was pounding on fall’s door—and kickoff was still an hour away—the stadium was about three-quarters full when we found our seats in the student section. Somehow we’d managed a pair in the third row from the bottom—prime viewing of the home end zone. If Danny scored on this end, I was going to lose my mind.
So many variables played out in a game. If we went up early, the coach might want to keep the ball on the ground, thereby relegating my guy to blocking rather than route-running and pass-catching. If we fell behind, no doubt the quarterback would be tasked with putting the ball in the air. But since Callahan O’Reilly was the superstar of the team—something he’d earned—if the game was on the line, no doubt he’d have the ball. Still, I had a bone-deep belief that Danny was going to get his shot in this game. My body hummed with excitement.
Though they ranked lower than the Wildcats, the Spartans from the Southeast Conference had come to play. The temperatures hovering a notch above freezing didn’t seem to bother those Southern boys as they came at our team with a vengeance. Still, our coach’s confidence in his players showed when he dialed up a play that had Danny running a post route that put him twenty yards beyond the line of scrimmage when Mick Patterson, our senior quarterback, dropped back to pass. He caught the ball in stride and turned on the jets, racing for the end zone. When he crossed the line with the ball in the air, I almost hugged all the breath out of Zoe.
We clanged our cowbells like wild women and screamed like banshees. When I caught a glimpse of the camera crew panning the student section, I turned my back and raised my hands in the air, jumping up and down so everyone on the Jumbotron could see who I was cheering for.
Tugging at my arm, Zoe yelled, “Turn around!”
When I did, there was Danny grinning up at me from the end zone before he joined his teammates to jog over to the sideline.
“I knew it! I knew he’d score a touchdown in his first start,” I shouted to my friend who smiled joyously back at me.
Our joy was short-lived, however, as the Spartans poured on the heat. The game turned into a dogfight, with the Wildcats down by three with two minutes to go. Though Danny’s heroics at the start had given him credibility, as I’d predicted, when it mattered down the stretch, the coach put the ball in Callahan O’Reilly’s hands. When he barreled through the defense after catching a wild pass from Patterson and rumbled across the goal line, the roar in the stadium probably exceeded the decibels of a fighter jet taking off. Our defense held the Spartans on their last possession, and we won the game by four points.
“I take it we’re buying tickets for next week,” Zoe said as we made our way out of the stands after the team had run down to our end zone to salute the fans and sing the MSC fight song with the band.
“I have express instructions to make sure my parents and sisters get seats for next week’s game too.”
We waited in line at the ticket booth below the bleachers for thirty minutes before we had a chance to purchase our tickets. Each buyer was limited to four, so I bought tickets for my family, and Zoe bought mine.
“What’s the plan?” she asked as we walked the short distance to where she’d parked her car.
“Danny asked if we’d meet him and some of his teammates at Stromboli’s.”
“Will Tarvarius be there?” she asked with a coy glance over her lifted shoulder. Seriously, no one could vamp like my friend.
“Only two ways to find out.” At her look of consternation, I clarified, “Go to the bar, or text him. I imagine the two of you exchanged phone numbers, yeah?”
“Plenty of women already chase the team. I don’t need to be one of them.” She sniffed as she unlocked her car.
“You are so transparent.” I was still laughing as I buckled myself in.
When we arrived at the pizzeria, we discovered Danny’s roommates’ usual booth was occupied as well as the one behind it. Several women held the seats normally saved for the team, which didn’t do much for either of us.
“Shall we grab a seat at the bar?” Zoe asked, eyeing two stools tucked back in a corner.
I nodded, and we parked ourselves on the end where we could watch what went down when the team arrived. After last night and this morning, I was certain Danny didn’t have a clue about the groupies awaiting the players when they arrived—not that watching them made me any happier about the situation.
