I don’t even have your jersey.
Hope emerges from the ashes, making me feel like a damn phoenix. This woman’s power over me is astounding.
Pumped up with determination, I stride inside my walk-in closet and pick one. Only imagining her in my jersey, wearing my name, makes me feel possessive. Folding the jersey, I place it in a box and put it on her doorstep.
You have a delivery.
Minutes pass as I wait for her reply, and when she sends me a picture of herself, my heart bursts, wreaking havoc in my chest.
She’s in my jersey, wearing nothing else, looking like a sultry fantasy and my dream woman in one. I can see the line of her cleavage. I groan, trailing my finger over the cold screen and get lost in the rapture of her.
Opening my door,I pick up and drink my juice cup, and drive to the stadium, revved up to win.
When I park at the stadium, I shoot Lilly a text and stride toward the locker room. My teammates congregate inside, ranging from those who focus by being on their own with closed eyes and music blasting from their headphones to those who chat animatedly and some goofing around. Each has their pre-game routine.
I slide beside Levi, but he’s preoccupied with the post-game event. He’s going to ask my sister to marry him. His feet bounce up and down, and he constantly checks the clock.
I elbow him in his ribs. “Time will not pass sooner.”
He rubs a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Not even when I played my first Super Bowl was I this nervous.”
“She could say no.”
“Asshole.” He smirks. “She will say yes.”
He’s too cocky. Must be good to be so assured in the love of your partner.
I squeeze his shoulder. “It’s going to be great.”
He nods pensively. “Is Lilly going to be here?”
“No, she’s on a girls’ trip with her mom.”
“So, this is why you’re sulking.”
I look straight ahead, mumbling, “I am not sulking. I’m focused.”
“Yes, gave up on that quickly. My definition of focus is thinking of Amelie only a few times during a game.”
He doesn’t even try to hide his grin. “Sucks to be in your position when you can’t be with the girl you want.”
“For fuck’s sake, I get it, but I am fine.” I snap.
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Maybe it will work out.”
When Coach comes inside, everyone directs their attention to him. As we go through tonight’s game plan, the desire to win takes the reins.
By the time the game comes around, I finish doing some light arm exercises.
Shouts explode as we storm the field. Jets fly overhead; the anthem is being played as we salute the flag. My feet anchor in the grass, adrenaline coursing through my veins, pumping me up to rule the field. I stare down the quarterback of the opposite team and smirk. This is my win.
We take our positions, and the game begins.
The stronger you start, the better the chances are of keeping the advantage. My arm and eye focus on Levi, who jumps as I throw the ball, and we soon achieve a big advantage.
Football demands you keep a levelheaded mind, but frustration can jeopardize that like nothing else when the score difference dwindles. It makes you rash. One moment, I watch the ball cutting through the air, the next I freeze when Levi gets rammed by two opponents while holding the ball.
My heart beats frantically. Something is wrong. I feel it in my bones when he doesn’t stand up but curls on his side. I run to him, only for him to lie on the ground, groaning in pain. His face pales, sweat breaking on his face.
