Which was what we agreed on. What I said I’d respect. But damn, her ignoring me stung anyway.
The engine started. The bus rolled forward. I exhaled and pulled my hood lower. We had three hours to kickoff. Then my phone pinged.
Sloane: hi, I’m sorry I didn’t look at you. I couldn’t look at you without blushing!
My mood changed in a second.
Oliver: why’s that? Thinking about my mouth on you?
Sloane: among other things. Do you know how much makeup I have on my neck right now?
Oliver: can’t say I do or care. Wish I could see those hickeys on you from here.
Sloane: I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you. I’m almost TOO aware of you now. I can smell you back here.
Damn. My stomach did a cute little swoop. Doc was horrible at flirty texts and that charmed me.
Oliver: Are you trying to flirt with me? You SMELL me???
Sloane: Oh god. I’m so sorry. I meant you smell good. Really good. I love your cologne. I didn’t mean you smell. Ugh.
I craned my neck over the seat and glanced at her, grinning as her blush covered her face. She met my eyes and widened hers as she shook her head.
Sloane: Don’t look at me laughing like that!
Oliver: You’re bad at flirting, and its cute.
Sloane: I really am. I don’t … do this.
Oliver: Well, I’m glad you’re doing this with me. I can smell you too ; )
Sloane: ha ha so funny.
Sloane: hey, even if I don’t look it, I’m really cheering for you today, okay?
Oliver: thanks, Doc.
I put my pre-game playlist on but this time with a smile. She reached out first. She let me know in her way that she cared about me, and I was fucking glad.
Warm-ups were clean. My body felt aligned, responsive, smooth. Not tight like last week. I hit all the mobility drills without pain. Even Ivy nodded at my range-of-motion numbers with quiet approval.
First quarter kicked off fast. We put together a drive right away—seven plays, three runs by me, and a clean pass from Quinn to Jordan. We made it into the red zone but stalled at the six. Field goal.
They scored on the next possession. Our defense got caught on a blown assignment, and I could feel the shift in energy from the sideline.
Second quarter, we adjusted. I broke off a 21-yard run and took another screen pass to midfield. Quinn found Ty on a slant, and we scored on a fade. I stayed steady. Focused. Every time I exhaled, I thought about Sloane’s hand on my thigh, her laugh in the morning, her voice in my ear. I’d glance over at her, and she’d be watching me, a small smile on her face. That smirk was enough to make me feel like I could fly.
Halftime came. The score was close. The locker room was tight but collected. Booth was direct and clipped. Quinn nodded along, already locked into adjustments.
Third quarter dragged. Their defense adjusted to our gaps, and we couldn’t move the ball. I picked up a couple of solidgains, but we never broke through. Penalties killed us. Jordan got flagged on a block that nullified my best run of the day.
Fourth quarter, we had a chance. One possession, two minutes. I broke a six-yard gain and got out of bounds. Quinn scrambled on third and four but got sacked on the next play. We punted with one time-out and less than a minute.
We lost.
The locker room felt like it had no oxygen.
No one spoke for a full minute after we came in. Cleats scraped against the tile, and pads hit the floor. The silence was louder than any post-win celebration I’d ever been part of. My jersey stuck to my chest, soaked in sweat, and I peeled it off without looking at anyone.
