I turn away from Luca’s blazing eyes to tap on the defensive coordinator’s shoulder. “Would you put Ninety-Five in during the next defensive series, as a favor to me? I have a gut feeling this is the right time.”
It’s not my place to tell a high-level coach which players to put in and when, especially during a game. If this were a regular-season matchup, I wouldn’t dare. But screw it. It’s only preseason, and Luca’s football life is at stake.
I can’t read the defensive coordinator’s expression when he replies, “I’ll consider it.”
A few minutes pass, and the time comes for our defensive unit to take the field. When they do, I’m elated to see Luca among them.
Off the bat, the Admirals run a rush, which means there’s no chance for Luca to even try to get a sack, since there’s no throw by the opposing quarterback. Luca nonetheless makes a good impression: As the QB makes his handoff to his runningback, Luca reads the play perfectly and immediately stuffs the running back for zero yards gained.
Of course, everyone on our side of the ball applauds and cheers, if only briefly. Everyone except Moriarty, that is. When I glance at him, he’s stone-faced and squinty-eyed. Interesting. Is our golden boy feeling Luca’s hot breath on the back of his cocky neck the same way he did when the press lauded Luca as the next Moriarity, only better, during college?
The next snap for the Admirals leads to yet another running play, which once again affords Luca zero opportunity to notch a sack or even apply pressure on the QB. But still, Luca makes an impact. This time, he not only denies the running back any forward progress, he also drags that powerful, flailing man backward for a full five-yard loss, like a shark dragging his dinner to the bottom of the sea. My God, I think I just had an orgasm.
Again, our sideline erupts in brief celebration of Luca’s monstrosity, even more so than the last time. And again, when I look at Moriarty, he’s impassive and prickly.Ha. Suck it, Jacob. You’re not the only big dog in town.
It’s third and long now. Which means the Admirals will almost certainly try to throw the ball to get themselves out of this hole.Come on, Luca.
The Admirals call a time-out. Not surprisingly. I’d call one too if a fire-breathing dragon was lined up in a three-point stance opposite my quarterback.
Hydration assistants dutifully jog onto the field to take care of our sweaty, dripping warriors. And as Luca guzzles water and wipes his face, I patiently wait to catch his eye. It’s not my role to coach him any longer. And certainly not in a game. But I know that man’s strengths and weaknesses better than anyone else. And thanks to my deal with Bellamy, I’ve got a vested interest in his success more than anyone, too.
After what feels like an eternity, Luca’s blazing eyes finallydrift to mine, and I use the opportunity to covertly signal him with three fingers.Bull rush to spin counter.
My message received, Luca nods, winks, and looks away again. And a moment later, when the ball is snapped, Luca perfectly executes what I’ve instructed. In fact, not only does Luca get to the quarterback and take him down with a bone-crunching thud, the ball squeaks out of the guy’s hand on the way down and hits the turf, allowing one of our linemen to fall on it and secure a turnover.
It’s a best-case scenario for Luca: a sack with a forced fumble on his first series of the game. Not only is that enough to make him a hero and keep him alive for another week, it’s also enough for him to win our bet, as far as I’m concerned. The sex part, anyway. Granted, he’s only managed one sack so far, not three, but I feel like reasonable minds would agree a sack with a forced fumble is roughly equivalent to three ordinary ones.
Aw, who am I kidding? Even if reasonable minds wouldn’t agree on that exchange rate, all that matters is I’m suddenly feeling so turned on by Luca Maguire, my capacity for reasonable thought has deserted me. Indeed, I’m so turned on by that sack, you’d think there was a vibrator pressed firmly between my legs. So turned on, I’ve already decided something: No matter how many more sacks Luca gets or doesn’t during the rest of this game, that sexy man is getting laid tonight.
CHAPTER 24
Luca
“TWO SACKS!”MYmother bellows. “I got so excited during the first one with the forced fumble, I had to grab your father’s arm so I wouldn’t fall to the ground!”
Laughing, Dad says, “They’re for sure going to keep you now, Lukie!”
Levi adds, “From your mouth to God’s ears, Pops.”
“Coach Parker’s, anyway,” Roman says.
“Around here,” I quip, “God and Coach Parker are one and the same.”
I’m in bed in my hotel room, reveling in today’s personal triumph on a FaceTime call with my family members: my parents, Levi, Roman—who’s got Iris’s smiling face with him in his square—and Marco, whose square includes Nicola.
Even though the other three football players on the call have their own games and practices to worry about, they’ve all devoured videos of my highlights. Although to be fair, none of the other players on this call are playing in their team’s preseason game any time soon. Only guys on the bubble like me have the pleasure of doing that.
My parents couldn’t make it to my game today, unfortunately, thanks to a wedding they had to attend, but even so, they covertly watched the whole thing on Dad’s phone duringthe reception and said they didn’t miss a single minute of my playing time.
“Coach Parker’s already told me I’ll be playing again next week,” I report exuberantly. “He even said I’ll get even more reps.”
Roman shouts, “Never count a Maguire out, baby!” And, of course, a cheer rises up from every box on my screen. The Mastodons lost today’s game, thanks to a couple of embarrassing fiascos on special teams and two turnovers on offense that had nothing to do with me. But who cares about the overall scoreboard when it’s still only the preseason and I personally kicked ass at every turn? In the end, I got two sacks, the first with a forced fumble, and I also blocked, tackled, and applied pressure on the Admirals’ QB like a motherfucking beast.
“We’ll come to next week’s game to cheer you on,” Mom says excitedly. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Actually, maybe you should,” I reply. “Just in case you not being there today was part of my good luck.” I don’t need to explain further. Not in this family. Our whole lives, if one of us had a huge win or triumph, we all knew to do everything exactly the same as the last time, down to our underwear, to keep the good luck going, just in case changing even the slightest detail might make the football gods angry and spiteful.
“Shoot, you’re right,” Mom concedes. “Your luck will reset after the preseason, though, right?”
