“Are you a good kicker?” Cloe asks quickly.
“I’m one of the best,” Jordan shoots back.
No hesitation. No doubt. Hell, she almost convinces me. Nervous laughter fills the room now. Or at least I think it sounds nervous. Coach calls the next reporter.
“You think kicking for a mediocre community college team makes you qualified to play pro football?” This comes from Mike Goodwyn, a local news sports reporter and radio personality. He slams the Pronghorns at every opportunity and seems to have the red-ass for me particularly. I’ve never liked the guy.
Jordan’s back goes a tad straighter. “Aaron Rogers and Jordy Nelson didn’t let the blind eye of Division 1-A colleges stop them from their dreams and I assure you, I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t qualified. I do understand what you’re really asking, though. Can a girl play in the pros? You don’t need to sugarcoat your questions with me. This girl can.”
My gaze leaves Jordan and I glance at Larry Modiess. There’s a sparkle in his eyes. He knew Jordan could handle this crowd. Her ability to meet them head-on leaves me feeling almost defeated, but she has no idea that a room full of reporters is nothing compared to a locker room full of jocks. Hell. The locker room. The thought of the male domain hadn’t occurred to me yet. What the fuck will happen there? She’ll obviously use the women’s locker room which is available for stadium use during off season. I’ve never been in there but I know women’s soccer tournaments are held here and they need a place for the ladies to change.
I miss Mike’s second question but not her answer. “I’m not ignorant. Kickers are the unwanted step children of football. We’re seen and rarely heard. Doesn’t matter if you’re a grade A kicker. Your teammates designate you as a second- or third-rate player. When I do my job, I’ll be lucky if the second-string quarterback doubling as my holder gives me a high five. Glory for a kicker is a self-satisfying event. The offense and defense work their asses off and they don’t enjoy having someone in a clean uniform walk out on the field and win the game. Personally, I don’t blame them.” Her gaze sharpens and her pouty lips tip into a condescending grin. “Maybe you should interview a few kickers, bone up on your game, and then come back with some new questions for me, Mike.”
It isn’t easy to hold back a chuckle at that hit. Mike’s face turns a dark shade of red. Ha. He’s my nemesis and I actually feel sorry for him. He’s been schooled by a college kicker. I may not like her but she’s smooth and knows her shit. Aaron Rogers and Jordy Nelson were passed up by college’s 1-A division in high school. Aaron played one year at a community college before he was picked up by Cal Berkeley. Jordy was a walk-on for Kansas State. Jordan’s right—they didn’t allow anyone to hold them back from their dreams, and look at them now.
The questions continue and Jordan tackles each like a pro. Damn, but I actually admire her. I just wonder who will be there to lift her mangled body off the field. As a kicker, she won’t practice with the first-string players. Special teams is a rough group of guys who will make her life hell.
More questions fly and Jordan proves she understands the game and her part in it. The coach puts a stop to questions after an hour. It’s time to meet the team and I have a feeling things won’t run as smoothly.
Chapter Five
Jordan
Larry said I aced the press conference. He had no idea what was going on inside my brain or should I say…sex organs. Sitting next to Aiden Patrickson was a lesson in unfulfilled desire. The man smells. His pores leak some kind of pheromone that grabs your insides, twists, and lights them on fire. Who knew? Most definitely not me. Whatever he bathes in, sprays on, or shampoos with is one hundred percent nuclear. All I could think about was licking him to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. He might have actually helped with the press conference because the butterflies disappeared as soon as I inhaled him.
I’m standing in a toilet stall inside the arena with only a few minutes to spare, and what am I doing? I’m using my phone to Google Aiden Patrickson to see if he sponsors a cologne line. Why, might you ask? Because I’m ordering a case of the stuff and demanding any man I date wear the stuff twenty-four-seven.
I have a whirlwind schedule in front of me and I can’t get Aiden Patrickson out of my nose. I check the info on my phone. The man sponsors designer dress shirts and athletic shoes. No damn cologne or soap. I’ll discover his secret ingredient sometime in the near future because I plan to invest in the company.
A loud sigh escapes. I need to get over this crush, I tell myself. I’m now Aiden’s teammate and it would be no different if I were a gay man. Romance does not belong in the locker room. We’re paid too much money to bring something as volatile as sexual relationships into the mix. I’m a big girl and I will control myself.
I walk out of the ladies’ room with my self-assurance intact. It’s time to meet the team. After that, Rick Dove is sending me back to the airport. I’ll be a guest on several New York morning shows beginning at four-thirty tomorrow morning. Sadly, all I want to do is get a full workout in and feel a football on the side of my foot.
Larry and I follow Coach Mitchel and Aiden. This first meeting is taking place in the locker room. I learned during my community college days that separating myself from the guys by using another locker room didn’t work. The team building, bitching, impromptu coaching sessions, stress-relieving fights, and celebrations all happen within the hallowed walls of the locker room. It’s the one place players can be themselves. My contract gives me a private bathroom, changing room, and shower inside the guys’ domain. It won’t be available for a few weeks, though. The battle for the same locker room space with our opponents hasn’t been fought yet. But it will. I’m either part of the team or I’m not. It’s up to me to stand my ground and make them accept me.
My eyes follow Aiden’s natural grace as he walks. Maybe walking is too mild of a word for the way he moves. It’s a confident athletic stride with his tight ass causing the temperature to rise. Cool air blows from hidden vents and adds a nice jolt every few minutes as it stirs his scent. Maybe hypnosis would help me get rid of this addiction, which seems to be escalating. He hates me and that should do the trick. Really. It should.
We turn the last corner at an arrowed sign designating the double doors ahead as the Pronghorns’ locker room. Larry is the last through. “Buck up, kiddo,” he whispers when he walks past me. I straighten my shoulders and plaster my very good impression of a natural smile on my face.
The locker room is state-of-the-art and nothing like the one we had in community college. The sweaty odor of men isn’t present here. This place is flash and bling with its custom locker stalls, comfortable couches, and plush carpet underfoot. This still doesn’t take away from the feelings it instills—inner sanctuary, achievement, family. It’s everything I’ve dreamed of.
Slowly, my new teammates move in closer. Some stand from benches while others stay seated. They all stop talking. No, they don’t appear overly happy. It was my idea to have the introduction here. I felt they could be themselves and I could get past the first dose of testosterone.
Aiden moves slightly in front of me. “Guys, this is our new kicker, Jordan Givens.” He shifts to the side so they get a good long look. “She’s now a Pronghorn.”
Silence.
A minute goes by.
“Fuck this shit,” says a player at the back of the pack. This opens up a few grunts of agreement and plenty of head nods.
Coach Mitchel looks at me and offers no help. I knew from the first contract meeting I attended that he didn’t like the idea of a woman on his team. He wasn’t as vocal during the meetings as I expected, though. I guess his silence was statement enough. He and I both know this is my first true test. I move up next to Aiden and smile. “Give me the name of a kicker you look up to,” I say.
A few moments of silence greet me. Then, again from the back, “Any kicker who can get the ball through the goalposts.”
Several players laugh and I ad
d a few degrees to my smile. “Were you paying attention last season? Pick a game, pick a team. Kickers sucked. It was so bad a sports reporter wore a shirt that said ‘Kickers and Punters are People Too.’ That was on national television. Kickers didn’t do their job and that’s because the rules have changed. The game needs players who can get that ball through the goalposts. I’m that kicker and when I prove it, you’ll need another prerequisite. Anyone want to try?”
The answer is immediate. “No pussy in the locker room.” This comes from a big, and I mean very big, player in the front. It’s Mason Jackson, an older, starting defensive lineman. He has maybe another good year or two before he’s out. He’s one of the few older players on the team.
“Mas—” Aiden starts to cut in.
“No, Aiden, I can handle this.” I give Mason my full attention. “If by pussy you mean a vagina, it’s too late for that, Mr. Jackson. I’m here and I’m paid to kick a ball through goalposts and give the team the best advantage at kickoff. It’s a plus not to have a dick between my legs. I assure you it would only be in the way.” I flash a million megawatt smile. “You don’t need to like it. Hell, you play defense, so you don’t even need to defend it. I have something to prove and putting points on the board is how I’ll do it.”
The media talks about locker room behavior but they have no idea what actually goes on in here when no one but players are inside. There’s a camaraderie that unites the team. From discussions about girlfriends, wives, and children to debates about politics—the locker room is the Holy Grail in sports. You leave your heart on the field when you play. The locker room holds the blood that pumps life back into your empty chest. You’ll hear cussing, derogatory terms, and sometimes scuffles to let off steam. But you feel the game in here along with the heartbeat of every player. My “pussy” changes nothing and they need to learn that.
Jackson isn’t through with me. “You talk and smile real pretty, girl. The first time a line of players heads your way with destruction on their mind, you’ll pack it in and run home with your tail between your legs.”
“Hmm,” I look behind me and give my ass the once over. “No tail,” I say after turning back and facing him. “I know you’re saying what ninety-nine percent of the team feels right now.” I look around and meet other eyes. “I get it. College boys like to talk about their big dicks and I don’t see any of you being different.” That gets a few snickers. “What I propose is that you ignore me just like you do all kickers.” I zero back in on Jackson. “When it comes to a dick competition, I’m no challenge, so you’re safe for now. If you still insist on comparing,” I hold up my little finger and wiggle it, “I’ve learned the louder the objection, the smaller the…mind.”
I get a few outright laughs this time.
“Okay, boys.” The coach looks at me and says, “Sorry, and girls. Her fifteen minutes of fame will be over in a few days and putting our game faces on will be priority. Stop your gawking and get your ass in the gym. Miss Givens is on her way to New York. You’ll have plenty of time to see what she’s made of when practice begins Monday.”
And just like that, it’s over. Coach’s word is law even when you’re making millions a year. The first quarter of this game is in the record books.
Chapter Six
Aiden
She’s as cool as a wide receiver on a Hail Mary pass into the end zone with no one around for miles. I just don’t buy it. Before we entered the locker room and were waiting on Givens to come out of the ladies’ room, her agent pulled me aside.
“I have something I want you to read. Keep it to yourself and take a look when you have time. Jordan tricked her way into my office. These are a copy of the papers she gave me,” he said as he handed the folded sheets to me. “This is why I signed her as a client. Read them and give her a chance on the field.” His jaw tightened. “She’s earned it.” He walked away and I stuffed the papers in my pocket.
Right now I’m lifting weights and thinking about the pages he gave me. They’re sitting in my locker unread. I’ll look at them tonight.
“This is shit, you know that, right?” It’s Randy Byer, one of the best fullbacks in the league. The problem is you wouldn’t know it by the way he’s played the past three years.
“I won’t deny it,” I answer after lowering the weights. I sit up and grab a towel. There’s no music in here today. It was only a matter of time before the complaints began.
“Hell, Patrickson. We’ll be laughed out of the league and you know it.”
That amuses me. “If we play another year like the last three, it’ll happen anyway. This is a publicity stunt.” I look around the gym where all the guys have stopped their workouts. “Could be good. Could be bad.” I throw my towel to the nearest bin with a three-point shot. “Not our problem to worry about. Winning is. Let’s try focusing on that.”
I hate myself for the brown-nose strategy I just bullshitted to the other players. This is what the team captain title does to you. For the next two hours the guys grumble and let off steam. Their comments make me laugh at times and grumble along with them at others. The word “pussy” comes up more than once and I don’t like where it takes my mind. To admit I have the hots for another player is just wrong, and somehow I need to get the thought of our new kicker’s pussy out of my head entirely.
We’ll see if she makes it past day one. I can always approach her when she’s no longer on the roster.
∞∞∞
My lack of sleep the previous night combined with today’s circus leaves me worn out as I make my way out of the stadium. My cell rings when I reach my truck. I look at the caller ID and see it’s my baby sister, Candice, who is sixteen going on two. I accept the call without thinking.
Her loud squeal fills my ear and I move the phone away from my newly punctured eardrum.
“A girl. You’ll be playing with a girl,” she screams. “O-M-G, big brother. This is monumental. A girl is playing pro football. Oh, God, she’s pretty too. I can’t believe it,” she screams again.
I should have expected this reaction from Candice. I’m the middle child. My sister, Stephanie, is two years older. My mother raised Steph and I alone from a young age. I remember our father, so him being out of the picture is a good thing. It remained the three of us until she met Ty. They got married and my mother had Candice within a year. The only reason Ty made it in my mother’s life was because he’s not intimidated by strong women. Put my mother and two sisters in the same room for more than a few minutes and it’s estrogen central. Football is the only man-sport in my mom’s house and that’s only because I play the game. Ty being a girls’ softball coach keeps the hormonal imbalance in full force.
The women of my family will be celebrating tonight. Too bad I don’t have the balls to join them, because I know the best course of action is keeping my mouth shut. The last thing I want is to be barred from Sunday dinner at Mom’s place. Saying what’s really on my mind would do exactly that. I can’t cook for shit and Sundays are my housekeeper’s days off so Sunday dinner is something I look forward to when I don’t have a game.
“Tell me all about her. I need the 411 so I can tell the girls on the team.” Candice is the reason Ty coaches softball. Like me, she’s a gifted athlete. Unfortunately, for a player of her caliber, there were no softball coaches available when she was in junior high. Ty played college baseball, used what he knew, and began training himself in the fundamentals of girls’ fast pitch softball. Now he’s the high school coach as well as the head coach of the elite travel team Candice plays for.
“You need to bring her for Sunday dinner. Mom and Steph will want to meet her and so do I. I bet she doesn’t know anyone here. We can be her family away from home.”
I don’t need to see Candice to know she’s jumping up and down. We’re a family of ADHD on steroids. None of us could ever sit still. Mom fortunately turned it into a plus. From dance class to track to whatever sports practice we had, she made sure we were worn out at the end of the
day. And yes, I said dance class. She enrolled me in jazz and ballet when I was six and I continued until I was twelve. I have great balance and a way of getting out of tight spots as a quarterback. I owe this to dance. I’ve taken my share of ribbing from teammates through the years. I don’t care. I’m good enough on the field to negate the pictures of me in dance tights.
“I’m sure she has plans this weekend,” I break into Candice scheduling Jordan’s calendar from this day forward. “She still needs to make it through training camp and preseason, so don’t get your hopes up too high.” I know this tactic won’t work, but I at least need to try to let Candice down gently.
“But she’s on the team. A woman playing football.” Another scream in my ear and suddenly all I want is a quiet evening and a beer. We end the call after a few more screams. I get it. My mom raised all of us the same. I did dishes and cooked even though I sucked at it. My sisters took out the garbage and changed the oil in the cars when it was their turn. My oldest sister is a welder of all things. She’s also an artist and my apartment has some beautiful pieces she’s designed. She struggled and fought her way into high-paying jobs in a male-dominated field. This doesn’t make Jordan playing for the Pronghorns any easier for me to stomach.
Jordan also left me hot and bothered. I give serious consideration for a booty call to relieve some of the pressure. Tomorrow will work better for that. Tonight I’m celebrating silence with that beer.
∞∞∞
I’m finally sitting on my couch with cold bottle number three in hand. I turn the folded pages over before putting my beer down and straightening the sheets out on the coffee table in front of me. The top one is hand written.
Goal (Completion #6) Page 3