Luca chuckles. “And she’s back! Wait, does that meanyou’re not planning to fuck me senseless tonight to celebrate my good news?”
“Nope. Sorry. I promise I’m every bit as horny for you as you are for me. But as your personal coach, I need to do everything in my power to get you ready for Sunday—and that means we can’t change a single thing about your current training regimen.”
“You’re my personal coach again?”
“Of course. I already cleared it with Raul before coming here.” With a wink, I slide off him and rise to standing, leaving him on the floor with a massive boner and a look of pure excitement on his gorgeous face. “Bye for now, boy toy with a boner.” I float toward the door and unlock it. But before opening it, I turn around again. “Congratulations, Luca. Never doubt you deserve this.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Coach.”
“No, you’re the one who did this for yourself, Luca. This was all you.” I blow him a kiss. “Thanks for the epic two-part grovel. It was delightful.” With that, I glide out the door, feeling alive, unbroken, and capable of feeling happiness, once again, for the first time in a very long time.
CHAPTER 37
Luca
“YOU SHOWED EVERYONEwhat you’re made of today, brother.”
As Roman speaks those words of praise into my ear, he pats the name on the back of my jersey for emphasis—and, of course, the horde of reporters, photographers, and camera operators surrounding us captures every detail of our highly anticipated exchange.
It’s week eight of the season, not quite the halfway point, and the Mastodons have a losing record while the Thunderbolts are soaring. And yet, today’s matchup at our packed home stadium felt as close to a Super Bowl as I’ve ever been lucky enough to sniff. Partly because of how much was at stake for me personally. It was yet another do-or-die opportunity. But also because of the way everyone hyped up our brotherly rivalry throughout the week.
The Rebels, Levi’s team, have played Roman’s several times over the years, including earlier this season, so the league has already witnessed two Maguires in opposing jerseys. Also, whenever Marco plays Roman, there’s always commentary about their close bond, too. But both of those guys are offensive players, so they’re never on the field at the same time as the other team’s quarterback, whereas I’m a defensive player who’s specifically tasked with trying to take the opposing QBdown. That unique circumstance made today feel especially exciting—like a true first in the world of the NFL. One that garnered an insane amount of attention from both sides. Even people who don’t care about football kept posting thirst trap compilations of Roman and me this week on social media—all of which Levi religiously shared in our family group chat with glee.
Thankfully, the game mostly lived up to the hype. Not in terms of the final score. That wasn’t even close. Roman and his Thunderbolts kicked the living snot out of us. In fact, the Thunderbolts did so well, their second-stringer went in for Roman during the fourth quarter. But even so, that was due to errors by people other than me. In fact, thanks to my shining play, this game felt like a coming-of-age party.
Moriarty played the entire first quarter, which came as a surprise to me. A bad one that caused me to jump out of my skin. But thankfully, when it quickly became clear he wasn’t razor sharp again, the same way he’s been the prior two weeks, our fans started chanting, “Luca! Luca!” And that’s when I finally got the call and immediately went into some kind of weird, catatonic state that turned me into Rambo out there.
Right out of the gate, I applied pressure on Roman like a boss and forced him to throw the ball away to avoid getting sacked. Man, the crowd went wild at that. Unfortunately, Roman being Roman, he went on to make some clutch plays after that, even when I consistently had him in my crosshairs. But still, I made it hard for him and also stuffed their running game like a madman, and everyone could see that. So I knew my time would come.
Finally, at the end of the third quarter, right before Roman was pulled from the game to protect him from any unnecessary risk of getting injured, I pulled off the near impossible:I took my big brother down for the first time in my life.And I did it in front of my hometown crowd and on national TV.
The sack wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was a bit of a fluke. Roman’s own center got in his way by mistake, thereby tripping him up and giving him nowhere to flee, which was the only reason I was able to get in there and exploit the situation. But even then, I only got Roman by the heel of his left cleat. If he’d had one more inch of room, I would have missed him completely and come crashing down onto my chest on the field like a fool. But, hey, a sack’s a sack, baby. And the roar of the hometown crowd in that moment let me know it. Even better, when I looked over at Moriarty on the sideline, the look on his face made me feel like I had a jet engine on my back. My rival tried to keep a poker face, but he simply couldn’t do it, and it was the best moment of my life.
From Moriarty, I looked over at Chelsea and discovered her jumping for joy like a lottery winner with Coach Martinez. And that’s whenthatbecame the new best moment of my life—getting to witness Chelsea’s euphoria and knowing it was because of me. Honestly, it was even better than seeing her O face. And that’s saying a lot.
I shouldn’t have done it, but when the series was over and it was time for me to exit the field, I beelined straight to Chelsea, picked her up, and swung her around the same way Moriarty did during preseason. I know full well we’ve got to keep our personal connection on the down-low for now, though, so I quickly put her down and did the exact same thing to Coach Martinez, making him, Chelsea, everyone on the sideline, and every Mastodon fan in the stadium roar and cheer. It was such a clever maneuver, in fact, Chelsea laughed every bit as hard as Coach Martinez when I put him down and she didn’t even look pissed at all that I’d swung her around in front of the world.
“Sorry I can’t make it to dinner,” Roman says into my ear right before we pull back from our postgame hug. “I would have loved to celebrate your first game as a Mastodon.”
I wave at the air. “Bah, rules are rules, even for you.”
As a general rule, even superstars like Roman have to travel with their teams to and from away games. But even if Roman could have gotten a special dispensation to join my celebratory dinner with our parents and Iris tonight, I wouldn’t have wanted him to. Roman’s the leader of his new team, so the last thing he should be doing is coming off like he thinks he’s above the rules or better than anyone else just because he’s the only guy on the team with a record-breaking contract.
As we continue chatting, the crowd of reporters thins out. Apparently, they’ve gotten what they needed from us, and they’re now scattering to find their next story.
“Do you have time to say a quick hello to Chelsea?” I ask.
Roman shoots me a knowing look. “Sure. It’d be my pleasure to say hello to the woman who hates me.”
Last night on FaceTime with my brothers and Marco, I confessed I’m madly, deeply, desperately in love with Chelsea. So, Roman knows my seemingly casual request isn’t casual at all.
I scan the buzzing postgame field, looking for the woman I love among the players, personnel, and reporters milling about, and when I finally spot her, she’s surveying the packed crowd, too. When our eyes lock, we share a broad smile and simultaneously bound toward each other.
When Roman and I reach Chelsea, and without a single reporter following us, I hug her and we both whoop excitedly about my performance. To my surprise, when our embrace ends, Chelsea initiates one with Roman, albeit a much more polite one.
“Congratulations on your season so far, Roman,” Chelsea says. “I bet the Thunderbolts feel like geniuses for snapping you up when they did.”
“Thanks. It’s been a fun ride so far.”
