The referee blew the whistle.
"Coach should put me in." Seager bumped my shoulder pad. "Your clock management sucks."
"Mick's got this." Sato shot him a side-eyed glare.
"Oh yeah? Seems like the only thing he's 'got' this game is a bunch of turf burns—from all his little cat naps on the field."
"Those sacks weren't his fault."
"You look lost out there," Seager snarled at me. "Maybe Sato should draw you a map."
I shook my head and tuned him out.
"You're done, maggot! You don't have what it takes to be a Marine!"
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, quieting the world around me. The acrid smell of wet Astroturf stung my nose, even as the chatter and cheers from the crowd faded.
Football wasn't life and death, just a game. This was all physical challenge, competition, teamwork, and I could walk away any time.
"…this could be your year, son."
I shook the words that played on repeat in my head and thought of her instead. Sometimes, I could pretend she was up in the stands. Convince myself she'd be waiting for me after the game.
She threw me a look over her bare shoulder. Pure sexual attraction wrapped in a short baby blue sundress.
I wanted to peel it off her body with my tongue.
"You promised not to call me Bree."
I needed this season to be over. But bowl games, playoffs,were a matter of stubborn pride and standing out. I needed to win. I wanted to lose.
And still, for her, I ached to be…better. Good enough. Or as close as I could get to?—
"Sack, sack, oh! Oh! Yes! Fumble! Yes! Yesssss!" Kurt and Danny jumped up and down.
"Please tell me Jamison recovered that,” Sato groaned.
"You’re up!" Coach barked at us. "Mick, start with the run. It's almost the two-minute warning, go!"
"Play for the win, assholes,” Seager roared as we shucked off ponchos and scrambled for the field.
"Cobra Kai!"
I rolled my eyes as I moved my aching body, every step jarring, pounding. We formed a quick huddle so I could relay the play instruction.
Sato grabbed Lindsom by the pads: "Drakes ain’t here. You miss that tackle one more time and I’ll be the one making you eat turf after the game."
"We’re a team," I hissed at both of them. "Act like it."
"Ladies first," Lindsom said and shot me a glare. I didn’t care what he thought of me, I needed him to do his damned job.
One drive. Down three points but taking over at our own thirty-seven yard line. Two minutes, fourteen seconds left in the televised bowl game—almost an eternity.
If we scored too quickly, Minnesota'd have a chance to get the ball back. We needed points on the scoreboard, but also had to chew time off the clock. Maintain control.
A shudder racked my body, but I didn't feel the cold anymore. Just numb…except my left arm, which had been hating me most of the season.
"You messed with Drakes's girl." Mackey squared his shoulders and snarled through clenched teeth.
