“No team cheer,” I say, and Jameson agrees.
“Come on, Coach.” Callan nudges Finley. “You and I can have our own secret handshake.”
She lets out a short laugh. “I’m on Team Grump, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, come on. A chest bump? Knuckles. A quick elbow tap?”
She laughs again, and fuck. He’s flirting with her. Callan is decidedlynotmarried. But the two of them are, well, they’d be pretty fucking perfect. There’s nothing against dating players from entirely different sports, and no one understands the craziness of a professional sports schedule better than someone who’s in it.
Though, maybe that would be the worst pairing.
Sabrina tells us all to make our way outside for the first event, and I follow slightly behind, watching every interaction between Finley and Callan, convincing myself that navigating two professional schedules would actually be terrible and they’d break up within days.
I’m feeling much better by the time we reach the field, only to be pulled up short as I almost run into the group in front of me.
“Wha—” I start, only to realize what has everyone’s attention. There is a giant-ass inflatable snow mountain in front of us, taking up almost half of the field. Where did they even find one that big? And, wait, is that—
“It’s a fucking Wipe-Out course,” Jameson groans next to me, as Larsen starts doing a dance.
“Yes! I’ve always wanted to try this game! Sabrina, you sweet angel. Making all my dreams come true today!” Larsen says, bouncing on his toes.
Sabrina whistles, catching our attention, and as a group, we make our way to the base of the structure.
Once we’re all there, Sabrina explains the game. “It’s not hard, folks. It’s a relay. One person starts. The next competitor can’t go until the one before them has successfully made it to the other end, run back, and hit their teammate’s hand. You have five minutes to strategize.”
As soon as we’re in our huddle, Finley takes control. She walks us through the plan, intentionally putting herself and Jameson first and second, so Callan and I can make up time if we need to. It’s exactly how she is in practice. She’s six steps ahead, talking us through the obstacles we can see and what might be the best way to approach them.
“Definitely pay attention to everyone else as they go. Likely, the people who play the same sport as you will be the most useful because your specific strength will get you past each obstacle. Going back will always take longer than waiting a few more seconds until you’ve decided the best way to get through one of the obstacles.”
We all nod. We know how to take direction in a competitive environment.
“If we need to tell each other something as we’re going through, I’ll yell. My voice will be the most distinct in the crowd. While I’m going through—”
“I’ll do it,” I announce. “You’ll know my voice best.”
They all look at me, and Finley quirks her eyebrow.
“Because you met me before today,” I say. This has nothing to do with anything other than winning.
“Sounds good to me,” Finley replies, and there’s a small piece of me that wonders if maybe it does mean something more. The sound of her voice is imprinted on my soul, not from her yelling at me while I’m out on the ice, but from the soft way we’ve connected over the last few weeks.
We finalize our game plan, and with a bob of her head, Finley heads to the starting line. It doesn’t matter that we’ll be scaling an inflatable mountain, bouncing across fake snow boulders, or climbing a rope ladder to the top of a second peak before coming back down on a large slide—everyone on that field is zoned the fuck in.
The Colorado Stallions’ mascot pretend fights with the Yeti, and finally, Sabrina lets out a loud whistle to start the race.
I can’t take my eyes off Finley. Every movement she makes is efficient. She’s not the fastest out there; the taller men are able to reach the higher handholds, but she’s strong. And she’s beating Everly and Dr. Pearce.
Larsen is going first, too, and he’s taunting Finley when he reaches the top before her. With one last effort, she pulls herself up next to him, not hesitating before pushing him to the bottom of the mountain.
Fuck, she’s amazing.
Without a backward glance at Larsen, who is aggressively climbing up again, Finley stares at the four white balls in front of her before quickly leaping onto them, one foot barely touching each as she passes.
Two rows down, Rob does the same after watching her.
Jameson, Callan, and I discuss our strategy as she climbs the rope at the end. She dives headfirst down the slide and sprints to the end, giving Jameson’s hand a hard slap as she reaches him.
“Hell, yes, Coach Blake,” Callan says, picking her up and giving her a hug while spinning her around. “The kid’s face when you pushed him off was epic.”
