Lane and Jordan return and join the circle the team is forming. We’re only waiting for Coach now. There’s a thick energy in the room. It’s a tangible force. The door swings open and coach enters with other staff behind him. The circle widens and he steps into the center.
“Who’s ready for some football?” he yells.
He receives grunts in answer.
“I said…who’s ready for some football?” he shouts louder. Our hands hit against our chests and helmets and cheers fill the room. When the noise dies down he has us take a knee.
It doesn’t matter what religion you are or even if you’re atheist. We all know the words and join hands before the coach starts us off.
“Our father who art in heaven—”
This grounds us. It completes all of our separate rituals and brings us together as a team. Anticipation pushes us through as we belt out the last verse and end with, “Amen.”
It’s time to play football.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jordan
Where’s a throw-up bucket when you need one?
I swallow and then try breathing through my mouth to ease the nausea. It shouldn’t be this bad and I somehow need to control it. I barely slept last night, had trouble eating all day because of the balloon in my stomach, and now my head is pounding. It doesn’t matter that this is what I signed up for, I’m terrified.
“Buck up, kiddo, we’re on in a few minutes,” Lane says as the team fills the tunnel and we wait to run out onto the field. Lane is too damned calm and I hate him for it.
How does the team do this each week? “What if I trip?” I whisper harshly in Lane’s ear.
He only grins. “You pick your ass up and take the ribbing on the nightly news. But worse, you take it from all the guys until the end of time.”
“Thanks. That helped.”
He laughs. “Anytime.”
“Go, go, go,” says a coach at the head of the tunnel.
I close my eyes and then open them. I place my helmet on and Lane gently knocks his against mine. “Showtime,” he yells. Whoops fly from players and I join the fray as we run onto the field. I break through the tunnel opening and barely notice the cheerleaders, smoke, and music once my cleats hit the grass.
The loudspeaker fills my head. “And here she is…the first woman to play pro football. Our very own, number nine, Jorrrrdan Giveeeens.” The announcer stretches out my name like they do for a boxing match.
Lane nudges my arm as we come to a stop. “Wave at your fans, Jordan.”
I lift my hand and wave to the crowd. They go even crazier. Our colors are navy blue and a dark burnt orange, but all I notice is a sea of white jerseys with pink number nines on them. Girls of all ages jump up and down and scream my name. I can’t help the tear that breaks and trails down my cheek. There’s no way to wipe it until I take my helmet off and I’ll be damned if I don’t allow my emotions to show freely. I make a last sweeping turn of the stadium, lower my arm, and run to the sideline with Lane.
“If I haven’t told you, it’s been an honor to mentor you,” Lane says beside me.
“Don’t make me cry,” I snap and fight the urge to throw myself into his arms. The cameras are focused on us and it would start unnecessary talk. I pull my helmet off, smooth my hair a bit, and give one last wave to the fans. We line up for the national anthem and the crowd finally quiets. I listen to the words of the song and feel incredible emotion. Hold it together, I silently tell myself as the final chorus blares. When the last of the music fades, the team captains walk onto the field. Aiden’s tight ass in his football pants and his bare muscular arms help me gain the control I need. We lose the toss and the Scorpions choose to receive the ball. I glance in the direction of the skybox where my father and friends are and wave even though I can’t make out any of their faces. With a deep breath, I pull on my helmet, insert my mouthpiece, and run onto the field. I have the privilege of kicking off the season.
We line up while the energy of the stadium sizzles around us. I’m still terrified. It helps to remember what Lane told me at the first preseason game. I picture the opposing team naked and smile behind my face mask. Too bad Killian MacGregor isn’t on the field. Bad girl, I mentally chastise myself. I’m sleeping with the hottest guy in football and images of Aiden supersede those I try to conjure of Killian. It makes me smile and does exactly what Lane meant it to.
I inhale. The stadium actually smells of excitement, if that’s possible. It’s the newly cut grass, fresh popcorn, and thousands of cups of beer. The place is filled to capacity and everyone is standing. I jump up and down on my toes before pacing my steps and lining up to the left of the tee. I look to the players on my right and then left. I hear grunts. The roar of the crowd quickly drowns them out. The players have their fingertips of one hand on the field and I’m the only one standing upright. I focus my gaze on the ball resting on the tee. The bright lights shine down and my concentration narrows.
It’s time to make history.
The whistle blows.
With a pounding heart and the football world watching, I charge forward. The team moves with me as one unit. My cleats grip the grass on the way to the ball and my left leg locks slightly in front of the tee as my right leg swings back. With all the power in my body, the side of my foot connects. Muscle memory did its job. The football flies up, the stadium lights making it fade from sight for a second before the ball descends.
I’m running full out. I block a Scorpions’ player, feel nothing, spin to the side, and continue running. The ball is a fair catch in the end zone and Scorpions take possession at the twenty-five yard line.
I catch sight of Aiden’s smile as I run toward Lane on the sideline. Who gives a fuck right now? I throw my arms around Lane’s neck and he swings me in a full turn. Get over it, people. I may be a football player but you can’t take the girl out of me.
The game continues and Killian MacGregor moves the ball downfield but only gets as far as the thirty-two yard line. The Scorpions field goal kicker moves in to put three points on the board. Aiden takes the field after the kickoff and completes a thirty yard pass on the first play.
He steadily picks up yardage and moves the ball into enemy territory. He’s doing great until he’s sacked on second and eight. I glare at his front line, though they aren’t paying attention to me. “Get your shit together,” I grumble. “You let them hurt my man and those tampons hanging in the locker room will go up your nose.”
They pay no attention and Aiden completes his next pass for a first down. Three more plays and Aiden throws a perfect spiral into the end zone for a touchdown.
I’m up with no time to congratulate him. And besides, there’s a lot of game left. I do my job and make the extra point. Pronghorns are up by four.
The game goes back and forth. We’re playing the Super Bowl champions and actually making a good showing. In the second half, Killian throws a touchdown and I kick a field goal. We’re in a tie game when we head to the locker room at halftime.
Twelve minutes is all we have and much of that is eaten up by walking to and from the locker room. In all actuality, we have about seven minutes before we go back on the field. The air is warmer in the room to keep our muscles heated. Players go in different directions to take care of their needs. The training room is a mass of trainers and helpers pulling off jerseys and medically assessing the needs of the players. I’m clear for my shoulder and don’t bother seeking any help. I head to my private room for a bathroom break. By the time I untie my pants, do my business, and get them adjusted again, three minutes are off the clock.
I walk back into the locker room and gather with the special teams players as Coach Morely starts in on a few items he thinks will improve play in the second half. Carter wheels an intravenous cart over and stands beside me. He’s been sick and the trainers are pumping fluids into him as fast as possible. He’s radiating heat and I can’t help but feel for him. You’re paid to play and sickness has no place on game d
ay. Coach Morely finishes and all the coaches gather in a side room where we can’t hear them talking. The sound system cranks up and a loud jamming beat shakes the walls. “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins is one we played in college. It’s on the Pronghorns’ playlist too and when the beat starts, I smile. Aiden, who is huddled with offensive players, looks over at me and grins.
“Two minutes until we roll,” one of the trainers yells.
I grab a bottle of water and down half of it. Coach Mitchel waves to someone to shut down the music so he can make his final halftime speech. “You all know what you need to do. We’re playing the Super Bowl champs and you’re playing like a championship team but each one of you can do more.”
As he continues, his voice puts me back in the zone. We’re on a locker room high when we charge the field ready to kick ass. Unfortunately, the third quarter goes downhill quickly and we find ourselves down by ten points. I listen to the grunts and swearing as our team gives everything they’ve got to stop the losing tide. Three minutes into the fourth quarter, I score a field goal. I’m too caught up in the suspense of the game to do more than crack a quick smile when Lane slaps my ass.
Killian throws a touchdown four plays into his next possession. We’re down by fourteen. Coach Morely walks over and talks to Lane about doing an onside kick. This is something Lane is really good at. Usually you try to sneak these in. When Lane walks out there, the Scorpions will know what’s happening. In this situation it doesn’t hurt us because an onside kick is expected. Mine have improved and I’m ready to go when it’s asked of me. I have no problem putting this one in Lane’s capable hands, though. We have eight minutes of play left and we need to score big.
Lane takes the field. My palms are sweaty as I watch from the sidelines. He kicks a short grounder that barely makes the prerequisite ten yards. Carter lays his hands on the ball first, twists, takes two steps, and is pounded by Scorpions. He’s slow in standing and two players assist him. He slowly limps off the field with the help of a trainer. Within thirty seconds, the trainer takes him back to the tunnel.
Aiden gets the ball on our forty-five yard line. The clock is ticking.
Chapter Thirty
Aiden
I’m beat up but adrenaline is keeping me hyped. I give a single clap and we break huddle. We’ve done this next play a million times and it’s usually good for a few yards. I fake a handoff, drop back, and lift my arm. A Scorpion hits me from behind and the ball flies away. Luckily, a Pronghorn picks it up and scrambles for those few yards we needed so desperately. I pick myself up from the field and feel a twinge in my hip.
No time to think about it.
We make steady gain and I glance at the clock. Six minutes, forty-four seconds. We need a touchdown here or we don’t have a shot at winning this game. My teeth clench against my mouthpiece as we line up on the line of scrimmage. I need Randy Byer to catch this pass. He runs full tilt to the end zone and this time when my arm goes back, my offensive line does its job, and no one gets near me.
Randy has two defensive players in the mix. His hands go up as do four others. One player tips the ball and Randy reaches back farther than should be physically possible.
Touchdown.
The stadium goes nuts. Jordan makes the extra point and we’re now down by seven.
I’m yelling “defense” with the rest of the offense on the sideline as our defense holds Killian at his forty yard line. They send in their kicker for a field goal. A few seconds later, word comes down the line that Jordan knows this guy’s stats and he’ll never make the kick. I smile and watch as the ball goes wide.
“Fucking yeh,” a player yells beside me.
After a touchback kick, I take the ball on the twenty-five yard line. We scramble and fight our way to our two. I hand off to Kareem, who’s filling in for an injured player. He’s a big dude and barrels through the defense, launching himself up and over the last players in his way for six. The fans go crazy.
I run over to Coach Morely and Coach Mitchel, who are talking. I know before I get there that they’re planning a two-point play. Coach gives me the signal and I run back onto the field to set up.
I tune out the crowd and the huffing and puffing from the players beside me. The play goes off perfectly and we’re up by one. The noise level from the fans is off the charts. Stomping feet, clapping hands, yelling, and screaming. It’s a zoo.
Killian brings the ball back into our territory and moves close enough for his kicker to have a fair chance. He makes the kick for three. The two-minute timeout hits after our next play. I run to the sideline and listen to Coach lay out the plan. I half-turn and Jordan is standing there.
“You get at least to the fifty and I’ll get it through the goalposts.”
Brave words and a record kick for our team if she pulls it off. “I’ll do better than that, baby. If I can’t score a touchdown, I’ll make it an easy kick for you.” Yeah, I don’t give a fuck who hears me call her baby. I slap my helmet back on and run onto the field with the image of her amazing smiling lips in my head.
It takes four plays to move the ball to the Scorpions’ thirty-six yard line. We’re running out of time and there are only eight seconds left in the game before I take a knee, leaving us with three on the clock. I should feel bad that this first game will come down to her kick but I don’t. This is her job and dammit it’s do or die. This is what she’s paid for but more than that…this is where her heart is.
The stadium noise ceases when special teams take their positions on the field. I inhale sharply and then hold my breath when the center hikes the ball. Fergus catches it and Jordan is there. The ball flies high and flips end over end. It’s slightly to the right and my fists clench. The ball sails between the goalposts with inches to spare. The stadium erupts and Jordan Givens wins our first game of the season against the Super Bowl champs.
I’m surrounded, hugged, and slapped on the back. We’re practically dancing onto the field. I can’t see Jordan. There’s not a person in the stadium sitting down.
The Scorpions look shocked, while the Pronghorns celebrate.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jordan
I autograph so many jerseys and pink footballs my hand hurts. Little girls and a few boys await their turn patiently. I’m still high on the win and wonder how many days it will take to fade.
“I want to play football with the boys too,” a young girl informs me.
I take a knee, place my hand on her arm, and smile. “Never forget you can do anything you want if you set your mind to it.” I write, “Never stop dreaming” add my prerequisite, “Play like a girl,” and sign my name on the back of her shirt. I’m sweaty and dirty, my teeth are gritty, and I don’t care.
Before I head to the locker room, I give a short interview to Cloe Smythe. Mike Goodwyn is thankfully absent. She gives my hand a quick squeeze before going all professional on me. Neither of us can stop our grins, and I’m still on cloud nine when I jog off to the locker room.
I hear the team from down the hallway and Bobby waves at me and runs back inside before I enter. I should have known…tampons hit me from every direction. Hugs and back slaps take their place while laughter reigns.
“Good job, Givens,” Coach Mitchel says with one of his rare smiles.
When I’m finally able to turn away, I look for Aiden and don’t see him. He was favoring his left leg toward the end of the game, which means he has the normal bumps and bruises. My guess is he’s in the training room. It’s funny but after so many complaints about me having a space inside the locker room, the players don’t seem to mind me being here after our win. Most are in various stages of undress. I spot Mike Goodwyn interviewing a few players in the corner and I make a hasty retreat to my private dressing room.
I close the door and turn. Warm hands grab my shoulders and pull me in close. Aiden’s fingers go to my braid and he unweaves it until my hair spills around my shoulders. He’s of course staring at my lips the entire time. His
large fingers dig into my hair and he tips my head to meet his kiss. It’s a heart-stopping doozy with lips, tongue, and teeth. He’s showered and is now wearing board shorts and a tight T-shirt. His erection pokes into my belly. He doesn’t seem to care that I’m still sweaty from the game and need to get my uniform and pads off.
I moan into his mouth when he slips one hand under my jersey and runs it up my side until he comes to a shoulder pad.
“This. Off,” he groans into my mouth.
I lift my arms and he works the tight-fitting jersey over the pads. He peppers kisses across my face as he unbuckles the pads. They clang to the floor a few seconds later. I’m still working on the tie to my pants. The damn thing has decided this precise moment is the time to knot.
There’s a shout from outside the door to my private haven and we jump apart. I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Aiden’s hands land on the wall on either side of me and his head tips down so he’s resting against my chest. We’re both breathing hard.
“Not a good idea,” he whispers.
No, it isn’t. “Tomorrow night my dad and friends will be gone. I’ll do a sleep over at your place.” I say this while running my fingers through his shower dampened, clean hair.
He stands up straight and leans in so I can hear his softly spoken words. “Congratulations on the win today. Some night we need to sneak down here so I can fuck you on the thirty-six yard line, where you made that kick from.”
My belly tightens and my inner thighs actually quiver. I smooth my fingers across the waistband of his shorts and slip my fingers beneath the material. His hand takes mine and stops my roaming.
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