Me
Sweet dreams Ty
The giddiness that pumps through me is paralleled only by the storm of fluttering in my belly. And after the past couple of hours, I know for certain it’s not first day nerves.
It’s because of Ty.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AVERY
The roarof the crowd builds as the players take the field for warm ups. I crane my neck from where we stand hidden in the tunnel, heart pounding in my chest. Larissa marks her choreography to our pregame routine, her shoulder bumping me every so often. Despite the adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream, I can’t move. As I peek out the open entrance, it hits me. It’s happening. I’m actually living one of my dreams.
Larissa hits her ending pose with a tilt of her arms and a flick of her wrists. She isn’t going full out, but I can still visualize the dance from her movements. I should probably be practicing too, but all I can do is stare out at the field, the crowd… A streak of Kings blue darts by, pulling my attention. And the players. They’re out there. They’ll be on the field with us. If my heart can pound harder, it does.
My eyes are locked on the entrance as our captain, Ashton, calls us into a huddle. She yells to be heard over the growing cacophony in the stadium, reminding us of ourblocking and where center is. Something hits my shoulder, and I turn to see a wide-eyed Larissa raising her brows at me. I take the hint and try to keep my attention trained on my first ever pregame entrance. Seconds later, we’re booking it out of the tunnel and toward the field, poms in hand.
The rest of the team and I make it to the sidelines, smiling and maneuvering into formation in preparation to take our place at the fifty-yard line of Legacy Field. The lights are blinding, the cheers intoxicating, and it’s in that moment that I remember why I love performing so much. This is a high I could never get from fiddling with a potted plant. Still, somehow—even now—I realize that I love both things equally. It’s a bit overwhelming, but what’s wrong with me? I’m in front of thousands, being televised to even more, and I’m thinking about potted plants?
Muscle memory alone keeps me going as I hightail it to my spot. Thank God I have long legs. The field is massive, and I’m still not used to covering this much area during a performance. Each of my steps is practically a leap, but the exertion never touches my expression. If there’s one thing I’m confident in, it’s my ability to cheese through anything.
Our routine is a blur. I basically black out, operating on autopilot until I’m kneeling in my ending pose. Blood whooshes through my ears, my chest heaving as the stadium ignites with whoops and hoots. As soon as the announcer finishes his brief commentary, the jumbotron image moves on from us, the camera operators scanning the crowd. That’s it. I’ve been waiting years for that… and now it’s done. We’re halfway to the sidelines when I realize just how close the players were—are—to us as they runtheir drills. I can’t help it, I look. I look for Ty. But I see no number 6.
A Lena Lux love song pours through the speakers, filling the massive space with her sweet voice. It’s one of her older ones. Even without looking, I can feel that something has come over the stadium. I stop checking for Ty and let my eyes drift up to the jumbotron, my heart jumping into my throat when I land on the screen.
It’s Lena.
Lena Lux is at our game, sitting inside a luxury suite and sporting Kings blue. I guess the rumors were true. She really is dating one of the players. My favorite musician watching me perform was not on my bingo card for the day—or for my life—but it happened. A giddiness that rivals last night’s with Ty rises up.
Ty.
My eyes drop back to the field, and that’s when I catch sight of number 27—Decker Trace—staring up at the suite the camera is locked on. The one with Lena and some purple-haired girl inside, the one on the giant screen. Everyone else is locked in on them, but my eyes are glued to the field. And that’s when I spot him. Number six, just behind Decker. Ty Brewster is facing away from me, and when he turns my way and peels off his helmet, an ear-tickling smile splats across my face. He doesn’t see me at first. He’s focusing on what he should be—his impending game—but a moment later, I notice him scanning before finally, his eyes fall on me.
And then he smirks at me. Not smile,smirks.
I nearly melt into the turf below, but before I do, I takea risk… Which is probably stupid on my part. Stupid and impulsive and irresponsible, but I can’t help it.
I scrunch my nose at him. Not in a cute, smiley way, but in the ugly way I did the other night in his living room. I’m not sure why. Maybe deep down I hope he’ll think I’m some little weirdo and not associate me with adorable, fluffy bunnies. Maybe it’s my subconscious attempting to keep him at a distance. Whatever it is, it doesn’t work. He doesn’t back down. If anything, I think he likes it.
I swear the corners of Ty’s mouth twitch up as he places his helmet atop his head. Before disappearing back inside it, he scrunches his nose right back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TY
I lagbehind the guys on the way to the locker room. My adrenaline is just starting to come down, and I should be celebrating with the rest of them. We may have won as a team, but on a personal level, I couldn’t have done much worse. I did my part to carry us to our first win, but it wasn’t without another first. My first personal foul of the season. It’s not something to be proud of.
Some of the guys have already made jabs at me about it and the penalty we incurred because of it. There’s no doubt in my mind Coach will have some commentary for me later about the late hit. I don’t want to make excuses, but it wasn’t intentional. I didn’t hear the ref’s whistle. Knowing Avery was on the sideline—catching glimpses of her in all her cheery, high-kicking glory—was more of a distraction than I had anticipated.
I strip down and head toward the showers. Squeezing my eyes shut, I let the warm water wash away the sweat and debris from tonight’s game. The whoosh of the watergarbles the sound of the music that’s been pumping through the locker room since we stepped foot inside it. Rap isn’t exactly my first choice, but it’s not like anyone ever takes a poll before pressing play. Turning off the water, I wrap my towel around me with only one goal on my mind. Get home. See Avery.
How is that suddenly the perfect night?
“Good game, brother,” Ramiel says as he passes me halfway to my locker. A little basket of toiletries hangs from his hand. It makes me want to smile. He gets crap from everyone for having such a specific postgame skincare ritual, but it’s his thing, so I keep my mouth shut. Ramiel always goes to bat for me, the least I can do is support his meticulous—and harmless—habit.
“Could always be better,” I say.
He spins on a heel and points at me. “Keep that mindset, but don’t beat yourself up. Yeah?”
