I cracked my helmet against his, but my gaze was inevitably drawn to the stands. Tori was clapping and screaming, with the most gorgeous smile on her face. When our eyes met, even if only for a moment, my heart swelled almost painfully.
It was as though her presence had finally put the final piece in place and I started playing like never before.
By the fourth quarter, the game was down to a single possession. The score was far too close for comfort, so Coach threw me in on a crucial third down — we needed a block to spring the run.
My knuckles brushed the turf as I crouched down. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears like a war drum as I tugged on the strap of my helmet, trying to ease its uncomfortable restrictiveness.
The ball was snapped and their defensive end lunged like he’d been shot out of a cannon. I met him head-on, driving my shoulder under his chest and digging my boots in deep.
Every muscle in my body screamed and I grunted with the effort, but somehow he buckled. I shoved him back two steps — just enough to allow our running back to cut behind me, break free, and haul ass down the open field to the end zone.
Touchdown!
The stadium went feral, but I didn’t celebrate. Once again, I found myself turning towards the stands, drawn like a magnet to Tori, scanning the sea of faces until I found her.
She was laughing with an unusually wild and bright expression on her face; her cheeks were rosy from the cold winter air. I decided then and there I needed to see her laughing like this every single day for the rest of my fucking life.
In the end, we won the game by ten points. A bunch of the guys were slapping my helmet and back and yelling my name, like I’d finally become part of their story.
The second Coach released us, I went to find my girl. She was waiting by the section near the tunnel, clinging to the banister, and my number and name were still clearly visible on her shirt.
When I stopped right below her, she wrinkled her nose but the smile never left her lips. “You know, I’m kinda digging the whole sweaty and dirty look on you. Doesn’t look half bad.”
“Thanks,” I breathed. “You, uh … came.”
The flush on her cheeks deepened. “Don’t read too much into it.”
“Too late.”
My voice dipped. “And the jersey?”
She looked down and tugged at the hem of the shirt in question. “I rushed it, okay? I just wanted to show up for you.”
My throat constricted and I cleared it, consumed with love for this girl who had fought so hard to shut me out, only to end up pulling me in deeper every single day.
The sweat on my skin was cooling rapidly and my breath puffed out in little clouds, but I felt warm all over. “You wearing my name is probably the best bloody thing I’ve ever seen. Well, second best. Next time, I’m putting you in an actual jersey, though.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, her mouth opening and closing, then opening again but no sound escaped her lips.
“You going to wait for me?” I sounded pleading and needy, but I didn’t give a fuck.
Her knuckles around the banister whitened. “If you want me to.”
“I do.”
Tori gave a slow nod, the corner of her mouth ticking up. “Better hurry then, so you can take me home, Pretty Boy.”
I could feel the primal need Tori had seemed to evoke in me, thrumming just below the surface. Still riding the post-game high, I considered our options for tonight.
Gran and Tane would both be in our respective homes, which wouldn't necessarily hinder a normal night, but it wouldn't do for what I had in mind. For what Icraved.
When I stepped out of the locker room wearing my joggers and hoodie and with my hair still damp from the shower, I instantly spotted my girl.
Tori stood with her ankles crossed, arms folded, pretending to read one of the laminated evacuation maps taped to the cinderblock wall. The fluorescent hallway lights cast a golden glow over her cheekbones and caught in her braid. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
And suddenly … an idea popped into my head. A mad idea, perhaps, but as I cast a furtive look around, I found the area almost empty.
The muffled rumble of fans could still be heard distantly above us — celebration, chatter and feet on concrete —but down here in the underbelly of the stadium, it was quiet. Barely any players left. No staff in sight.
