Was she staring at me?Have the tables turned? Satisfaction builds in my chest at the possibility of her replaying our kiss over and over the last few days like I have been. It has me wondering if she too has spent a few evenings alone with thoughts of me the way I have her.
Her head hesitantly stutters back my way, and I take the chance to let her know I see her. I lift my hand, waving my fingers in her direction and sporting the biggest smile I can.
And she sees me. Oh, does she see me.
She pulls her bottom lip in by her teeth—no doubt fighting back a smile as she shakes her head. Both hands full with a microphone and a stack of papers as the first half is about to end and she’ll be interviewing Coach Aarons.
As the second quarter comes to an end, I’m on my feet with the rest of the team heading into the locker room, and I take the opportunity to say hello to Demi as she’s walking toward our sideline.
“Hey, Dem,” I say in a low voice, stopping next to her.
“Twelve.” She lifts her chin, papers in hand as she waits for my coach to be free.
“You look really pretty today,” I whisper, and she jerks her head up at me. Her cheeks tint pink, her eyes widen—it’s a look of pure embarrassment. But knowing I just made her blush makes my chest pound.
She knows I’m mic’d up.
“Thank you,” she mumbles before rushing away.
And that almost-smile from her is enough to power me through the second half of this game.
The scoreboard reflects a tough-fought battle, but not a victory. And it fucking sucks. Every time we don’t win, I know there are a million things I could’ve done differently.
As the quarterback, there’s a leadership aspect to my role. I’m a captain. A veteran. Someone every single guy on this roster looks to. When we lose, it feels like I’ve let them down and the last thing I want to do is a postgame interview, but it’s my job.
There are a handful of reporters in the postgame wrap-up, and I step up to the podium, black Knights T-shirt and a backward hat. Still sweaty and banged up—but this is the way it goes.
“Liam, what’s said on the sidelines when you’re in that kind of position so late in the fourth quarter?”
I lean both hands on the wooden podium. “Yeah, we just needed to do more in the red zone today. And we didn’t. You know, I always tell my guys to keep fighting until that clock runs out, and that’s what they did. Our defense played lights-out football the whole game. I missed a few throws, too many throws, I think…and yeah. There’s work to be done.”
The same reporter speaks again. “What about Alex Farr? Any word on how bad his injury is?”
Alex went down on the first play of the third quarter. Best guess is a hamstring injury and he’ll miss a handful of games, but it’s not on me to tell the reporters.
“I’m not sure.”
The head of PR points to a woman in a polka-dot blouse with big frame glasses and she begins another question.
“You guys had thirteen penalties today. That’s more than any game last season, is the offensive line still getting accustomed to new roles?”
I want to roll my eyes. I want to be able to ignore questions like this. I’ll never throw my guys under the bus—even if there were moments I was frustrated in the game.
“Yeah, listen, there have been a lot of moving parts offensively and those guys played great. There’s work to be done across the board, we’ll see that in tape.”
She dips her head to write something down, and I field two more questions from the eager group seated in front of me before heading to the locker room.
My body is banged up today. I felt every hit, every bump, every fall. Thank god tomorrow’s an off day.
Summer Kincaid has changed the name of your group chat to Liam’s Angels.
Summer Kincaid
Hello!
What’s with the name change?
Summer Kincaid
