“I was talking to some of the other girls, and we decided you should be the spokesperson for the group on Sunday,” she declares.
My mouth gapes open. “M-me?”
“Yeah.” That’s all. No explanation. Justyeah.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Carrie chimes in, and I shoot her a laser death glare. She has the grace to look chagrined.
“Why me?” I question.
Liz sits on the open lounger beside me. “You did a great job speaking up about that period stuff today when no one else did. Happened to me once in the middle of a high school game.” The twist of her lips from a perma-scowl to something resembling embarrassment makes her look a bit… softer? “Most humiliating thing ever. I grabbed a jacket to wrap around my waist while I ran to the locker room to change, but a few people saw it.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say softly.
She shrugs her Chevrolet-sized shoulders with feigned nonchalance, but I can tell it was something that bothered her. “It sucked. I mean, I know it’s natural, but you know how high school idiots can be. They already made constant comments on my femininity since I tend to be a little… rough around the edges.”
“I think you’re feminine,” Carrie says brightly. “You have gorgeous eyelashes. Like a giraffe.” She makes fluttery fingers near her eyes.
Liz frowns at her for a second before bursting into laughter, completely transforming her face. “Thanks, Broxton. Eyelashes by giraffe and body by rhinoceros,” she replies, flexing her enormous muscles.
“You’re built exactly how an offensive lineperson should be built,” I encourage. “You’re an amazing center. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been invited here.”
“Thanks, McNamara,” she says, looking slightly less frightening when she offers me a smile. “What do you think about all the info they gave us?” She tilts her head toward the folder in my hands.
“I like how their focus is that this is a league for women and bywomen, and it’s not just a tagline. Seems like they’re really trying to support us.”
Liz purses her lips. “I agree, but to be honest, I’m not fond of the team names. Lady Panthers. Lady Dragons. Lady this and Lady that. We know we’re female, and I don’t think that needs to be pointed out. It’s in the title of the league, for fuck’s sake. TheWomen’sNational Football League.”
“That’s true,” Carrie muses. “I think Jordie should get everyone’s input and then mention it during her report.”
“I do too,” Liz agrees. “Like, if I see a dragon flying through the sky, I’m not going to say, ‘Wow, look at thatladydragon.’ I’m going to say, ‘Holy shit, that’s a goddamn dragon!’”
Carrie and I crack up, and we’re treated to another rare smile from Liz Weston as she pushes to her feet. “Okay, McNamara, it’s settled. Thanks for volunteering to give the report to the commissioner on Sunday.”
She pats me on the head, knocking me down the lounger a couple inches before she departs to perform a spectacular cannonball into the pool.
Okaaay. Apparently, I’m now the spokesperson for this whole shebang. I don’t mind, though it feels a lot more like I wasvolun-toldrather than being an actual volunteer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Who is this?
Jordie
TWO YEARS LATER
I sit in the off-campus apartment I share with Carrie. She’d gone home for the weekend, but I decided to stay here to obsess over film for our first game of the season.
My senior year of college. It’s hard to believe it’s finally here. A lot has changed in the past two years. Our team played for the national championship last year and lost by three points, but we’re favored to win it all this season.
As far as my family is concerned, a lot has happened there as well. That “fling” Juliette met at the Pineapple Island resort? Yeah, turns out he was none other than hockey superstar, Reno Swain. When he was traded to my brother’s team, The Dallas Brewers, he and my sister found each other once again.
They carried on this wholeforbidden, brother’s teammatething for a while. It was something straight out of a romance novel. And now they’re married with one-year-old twins, Jace and Ruby… and two goats.
Holly and Bubba’s little girl, Amber, was born a few months before the twins, and their son, Aiden, is now three. It’s definitely getting to be a full house in both the Ward and Swain households.
I rewind a play on my iPad and watch Georgia’s defensive backs again, committing them to memory. Gonna have to watch out for?—
That thought is halted when my phone rings, and I glance down at the screen to see an unknown number. Jesus. Probably a spammer that wants to discuss my car’s extended warranty.
