My pulse stutters, a sudden flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach at the thought of him watching me. Here, in person.
A receiver bursts off the line, the movement pulling me out of my momentary distraction. My hesitation almost costs us, but I recover quickly. I drop my weight, launch myself off the turf, and drive my shoulder into the oncoming receiver. A sharp twinge of pain lances down my arm, but I grit my teeth and shove, forcing him back and cutting off his lane. Meanwhile, AJ and Dez take advantage of the scramble and crash the pocket to sack the quarterback.
The stadium explodes, not just from our sideline whooping or the Cyclones’ fans screaming their lungs out in enemy territory, or even from the wall of boos raining down from the Falcons’ fans.
It’s the music.
Typically, music plays for the home team victories, and very rarely for the visiting team. It’s not even one of our fight songs. The stadium DJ drops aLest Is Mooretrack right in the middle of a hard-hitting chorus, bass shaking the whole damn place.
My breath catches, and I look up at the screen to see Jesse pumping his fist and cheering, my name on his back while his voice reverberates through the stadium. The crowd has lost the plot, even the Falcons’ fans are getting into the song, thousands of strangers singing along while my teammates whoop and slam helmets against pads.
I meet AJ and Dez on our way off the field to congratulate them on a great play. AJ jumps on my back, putting weight on my shoulder, and I wince. Once he’s bounced over to celebrate with another teammate, I shake it out and roll my shoulder. It’s nothing, just a tweak.
When I take a seat on the bench to drink some water, my eyes gravitate back up to the halo screen around the stadium. Jesse is still up there celebrating, singing along with the crowd and raising his arms in the air, hyping up the crowd like he’s part of the team.
Like he’s mine.
NINETEEN
LUC
“You’re so full of shit,” Shawna drawls, taking another bite of pizza and screwing up her face. “And so is this nasty excuse for pizza. What the hell is this, Luc?”
“I told you it’s not traditional pizza. The crust is made out of ground chicken breast. It’s healthy.”
“Gross.”
I roll my eyes. My best friend has a deep aversion to healthy food. She won’t eat a vegetable unless it’s deep fried or slow cooked into a stew, like the good Louisiana girl she is. “There’s a bag of chips and salsa in the pantry.”
Shawna perks up, then narrows her eyes.
“They have salt,” I clarify, not waiting for her to ask. “And I got you that off-brand restaurant-style salsa you like, not the ‘bullshit from the deli’ with actual fresh vegetables.”
“You’re my favorite.”
I laugh as she runs off to find more acceptable snacks. I miss Shawna’s antics like crazy some days. With everything that’sbeen changing in my life, having her here on her normal bullshit is a breath of fresh air.
When she gets back, she folds herself back into the corner of my couch and proceeds to eat her chips and salsa directly out of the bag and jar. And then, true to form, she waits until she has a mouthful before again asking the question I already answered because she thought I was kidding.
“So anyway, I didn’t peg Jesse Moore for a football fan,” she continues.
“He’s not.”
“Pssht. Except he invited your team to a concertandcame to one of the games. Wearing your number, no less. That’s going to mean more jersey sales, you know.”
I resist groaning. She doesn’t understand how I could not care less if people are wearing NFL merch with my name and number on it. She was excited tofinallyget one, like I was holding back on her.
“Remember the beach party right before the Draft?”
Shawna frowns. My uncharacteristic behavior and stressful sexual awakening, as she called it, has always been a sore spot. I’ve never been the one to bring it up the very few times it’s been necessary to mention.
“What about it?”
“Remember the guy?”
“I mean, I don’t remember meeting him, but I remember that you did. And I remember… you know, after.”
I cut my eyes to the television and back to her, trying to give her a hint. Which of course, she doesn’t catch. Why would she?
