That single point sealed a Cosmos victory—and cemented her as the first woman to score in an NFL game, all on her first and only snap.
The Cosmos haven’t said whether she’s sticking around. But if you ask anyone in the locker room, she’s already a legend.
Seven
Blair
Lifecomesatyoufast, especially when you sort of wander onto an NFL roster for the rest of the season—or until they say they don’t need you anymore. It’s been three days and it’s hard to even believe this is real life.
First, I now have a manager, Claire. She works with Willow—global superstar and love of my life even if she doesn’t know it yet. Apparently, Tripp was raving about me to his girlfriend and Claire reached out to the Cosmos, offering to work with me for free. Weird kind of world when I think about how I’m playing football with Tripp, who's dating one of my favorite music artists of all time, and then we end up with the same manager.
Second, I could’ve paid her because my bank account is about to be in another tax bracket, but she insisted. Well, actually she told me, “You can buy the next one,” like we were settling a tab at the bar.
When the Cosmos told me they’d pay me and get it all situated, I was expecting like a thousand dollars. Nope. The league minimum is well over eight hundred thousand dollars and that’s what I’ll get paid for being available for the Cosmos. I still don’t believe it. There’s no way this random extra point situation is going to put me in a different financial position—one I've dreamt of.
Third, I have practice. Since I still run a gym, I was able to get a modified Cosmos schedule, which has me working with special teams twice a week and then the final team walk through. They have a locker for me, inthe women’s locker room, and sent me a ridiculous amount of Cosmos gear—both ladies fit and unisex wear.
Lastly, I’ve had to put a pause on accepting gym memberships to Embers and Ashes. It only took a few hours after I made the extra point for my identity to be revealed and the gym to be inundated with people wanting to join. A dream come true, but also scary as fuck. So far, everyone has been respectful and there for the right reasons. A few people have asked me for photos and I’m more than happy to do that.
If I'm being honest with myself, it’s a nice distraction. I’ve not seen Tyson since I made up an excuse to leave his apartment too early after staying over due to my loose lips the night before. Honestly? It’s kind of Zack’s fault—he sent that delicious champagne, and when that was gone, the bourbon was just as smooth, and next thing you know...
I always think you’re going to kiss me...
I’m a fucking cliché and it’s embarrassing. To my bones, I can’t believe those words made it out of my brain. Even with the drinks, it was like I was having an out of body experience—floating above the two of us—as I casually told Tyson, one of my best friends and favorite people in the world, how I thought about him kissing me.
I mean, it was true. But it wasn’t something I intended to share. The thought of him putting an end to the possibility of us exploring something more is enough to have me hold onto this secret with white knuckles.
I'm supposed to be one of the guys—I'm literally his teammate now—and the man has never once put a single move on me. It’s never been like that.
The pit in my stomach opens up, like my journal pages are flipping to the worn handwriting—the lines where I wondered about ending up with Tyson. The secret I've kept to myself.
He’s always had this pull to me. Ever since we met, he’s been able to take the most run of the mill things and make them feel special. His jersey is strewn over a chair, and it brings me back to a night in college.
The floor might be sticky and the beer might be warm, but this is the most fun I’d had at a house party in a minute.
Not surprising, considering Tyson and I were tucked in a corner, seemingly in our own little world. He laughed like he means it, like you were the only one in on the joke, and somewhere between his dumb impressions and the way he always saved me a drink at these things, I’d started looking at him longer than I should.
I liked him. Quietly. Stupidly.
And he didn’t have a clue.
I was mid-thought when Tyson elbowed me. “Hey,” he said, nodding toward the far end of the room. “Flannel over there is giving you heart-eyes.”
I blinked and followed his gaze. Sure enough—tall guy, lean build, sharp jaw. Cute. Definitely looking. Probably on the basketball team.
“He’s been staring since you walked in,” Tyson added, a crooked grin playing at his lips. “Should probably put him out of his misery.”
I smirked and took a sip from my drink. “Maybe I’m good here?” I willed him to forget about anyone else looking over here. At me. At him.
“I know I’m a blast.” He puffed up, mockingly, then tilted his head toward Flannel Guy again. “But he’s not bad. You should go talk to him.”
His voice was light. Easy. Like he wasn’t sending me toward something that made my stomach twist—but not in a good way. I hesitated, gaze drifting back to the guy. He lit up when our eyes met. I tried scanning the room for anyone who might be looking for their opening with Tyson and my stomach bottomed out.
Tyson nudged me gently. “You got this.”
I glanced up at him one more time,searching for something in his face—hesitation, jealousy, anything—but he was already looking away, sipping his drink like it was just any other night.
So I smiled. Bright, fake, and practiced.
