by Danica Avet
There’s a hush on our side of the field, as though every fan is holding their breath.
“Hut!”
The ball’s snapped from center to quarterback and both teams go into motion. Beau drops back, head turning, as Spartan wide receivers battle to get downfield. He fakes a pass before dodging a tackle. My heart is pounding. I flinch when another tackle gets a handful of jersey, nearly spinning Beau to the ground before the quarterback breaks the hold and darts to the right. He looks. Looks again.
Then he rears back and lets the ball fly.
There’s a collective gasp as we watch the football spiral through the air, my gaze dropping from it to the lone white jersey racing away from the slower yellow jerseys. The ball sort of just floats into his outstretched hands, settling in without a single bounce, before it’s brought down and tucked close to his body as he hurtles for the end zone.
When he crosses the goal line, there’s a single beat of silence from the 300 before everything goes absolutely, blindingly insane. Instruments are raised, the fight song played, but I’m too busy staring at Shaun, watching his shoulders relax before he claps his hands and shouts something to the offense that has them turning around and heading back on the field.
“They’re going for two,” Mark says when I look at him questioningly. He glances at his hand. “I’ll never play violin again if you keep squeezing me like that.”
“Sorry,” I mutter and let go of his hand, which looks a little bloodless from my grip. He flexes his fingers. “Isn’t that harder to get than a punt?”
“Yeah, but if they get it there’s no way the Trojans can get another touchdown and extra point in the next thirty-eight seconds to force us into overtime. They get it, we win,” he answers, moving away from me just the slightest bit, as though worried I’d reach for him again.
Taking the hint that I’m on my own for this play, I lace my fingers together in front of me in a prayer hold. Once the rest of the crowd realizes the Spartans are going for the two-point conversion, there’s mix of cheers and jeers, all of which the offensive line ignores as they get into their stances again.
The play starts and it’s almost the exact same movement as before, with Beau dropping back, yellow jerseys swarming toward him like a bunch of angry bees. Except this time he dives forward, white jerseys pushing yellows out of the way, giving him room to move, and he falls, the ball extended. The play is called dead and the line judge rushes forward before he lifts his arms in the air. My gaze darts to the scoreboard, where the clock shows double zeroes.
They won?
I blink as the Spartan players go insane, the 300 rallies the crowd with the fight song, but all of it’s muted because my gaze goes from the celebration happening in the end zone to the figure of my man standing on the sideline. As though he feels me watching, he looks back, his teeth a startling white contrast against his dark beard.
They won!
I scream, hands flying in the air, cheering for my man, who’s still grinning at me. I throw him a kiss seconds before Groot and one of the offensive guards douse him with an entire cooler of Gatorade. His hat and headset fall to the ground. His shirt’s plastered to his torso, slacks wet to his thighs, but he’s the happiest I’ve seen him since I agreed to marry him.
He blows me a return kiss, a couple of the players following his gaze in my direction, their smiles so bright it could probably power the entire town of LaSalle for a week. Tears fill my eyes as the rest of the team surrounds their coaches, their helmets in the air as they scream in victory. It’s stupid to cry, right? But I can’t help myself, pride making my heart feel about ten times too big for my chest.
“Go,” Mark says, and I look to see him nodding at me.
“What?”
“Go down there and be with your man. I’ve got the band covered.”
I don’t even pause to think about it. Grabbing my messenger bag, I sling it over my head and scramble down the steps. For a moment I think security is going to keep me from reaching the field, but someone—one of the junior trainers—shouts it was okay for me be down there and he lets me pass.
Everything’s a blur as I push my way through the crowd of people who’ve surrounded the team. I mutter my apologies as I elbow screaming girls and cheering guys out of my way until I finally hit a white jersey that says De Groot, although everyone now calls him plain old Groot now, across the shoulders. I tap him on the back a couple of times before he finally turns and looks down.
“Frosty!” Groot shouts, scooping me up in a bear hug. My feet have to be at least two feet off the ground and I grip his shoulder pads to keep from falling. His face is shining with sweat and joy, the grease he put beneath his eyes is smeared down his cheeks.
Before I have a chance to do more than smile, because his happiness is infectious, he plants a big, wet kiss on my mouth. I pull his ear. Yelping, he gently puts me back on the ground, still grinning all the while. Honestly, these boys.
“You want Coach?” he asks with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder.
“Yes,” I shout to make sure he can hear me, as the crowd has started chanting “Spartans! Spartans!”
He nods and grabs my hand before he pushes his way through the tight throng of people. Football players and cheerleaders, coaches and other people who somehow made it onto the field, none of them give Groot a problem as he moves them out of the way. I wave at the few faces I recognize from my classes, shouting my congratulations over and over again until Groot suddenly stops.
“Hey Coach, got you a present!”
I didn’t realize how fast he could move because one second he’s in front of me and, in the next, he’s to the side, his grip on my hand propelling me forward. I hit something solid, wet and smelling of Shaun’s cologne mixed with sports drink. Strong arms band around me, clutching me close and mine go around his waist.
Tilting my head back, I grin into his face, so happy for him I could cry. Instead, trying to maintain some dignity, I squeal, “You won!”
I feel his chuckle more than hear it, but I definitely taste his delight—and lemon flavored Gatorade—when he dips his head and kisses me. It isn’t a polite kiss either. It’s hot, heavy and hungry with lots of tongue. When he finally ends it, I can barely stand, clutching his wet polo in my fingers like a lifeline. There are whistles and catcalls of approval from the players that leave me blushing hotly, but I don’t care.
“Love you,” he says to be heard over the ruckus.
“I love you too, baby,” I mouth, knowing there’s no way he’ll hear me over the crowd. It doesn’t seem possible, but his smile grows even wider.
And that’s exactly why I don’t care if the entire world sees us kissing like a couple of teenagers who can’t get enough of each other. Because this man, our love, is the kind that only comes along once in a lifetime. It’s taken me a few stops and starts to get here, but I wouldn’t trade a single minute of it since it meant winding up right where I belong.
In Shaun’s arms.
Shaun
The pass is a beauty, floating through the air in a perfect spiral. I cut toward the center of the field, arms up and I swear it’s like the ball just slides into my hands. Tucking it to my chest, I dodge a defender, spinning my hips to avoid him grabbing either one of my flags and run flat out for the end zone. Fifteen yards. Ten. Breathing and grunts behind me and I veer right, escaping another grab. Five yards. A hand grabs the bottom of my T-shirt, but misses the flag and I continue to plow forward, my knees aching, screaming, but I cross the goal line.
The ref blows the whistle, hands in the air and I turn to see the rest of my team racing toward me. I’m breathing hard, torrents of sweat dripping down my face and back, my legs trembling from the exertion of a playing a four quarter game, but the buzz of victory keeps me upright. Even when the guys bounce into me, jumping up and shouting, clapping my back enthusiastically.
But none of them can outdo the cheering happening on the sideline. As they surround me, clapping me o
n the back and replaying my brief moment of glory, I glance to the “audience” to see Katie standing in front of her camp chair, screaming her head off. The papers she brought with her to grade are on the ground, but she doesn’t seem to care.
“Your girl’s gonna be hoarse tomorrow,” Walter our quarterback says, with a grin. He slaps me on the ass. “Let’s go get that extra point and call it a day.”
I give my woman a chin lift and a wave as I take my place on the line for the final play of our game. Walter sets us up, the ball hiking back to Eduardo, who sends a beautiful kick right between the uprights. Just like that, we won. Although I can’t say it’s just like that. The Bucks are tough competition and I make sure to shake every guy’s hand, telling them just that as we do the after-game lineup. Hands are slapped, congratulations and jokes are passed around good-naturedly.
This might be a recreation league, but every guy who comes out here gives it their all. There’s no money, no big endorsements and contracts at stake, just our pride. I worried the players would treat me differently because of my former career, but when I step on the field I’m just another one of the guys. I get ribbed, get “flagged” as much as anyone else and it’s fan-fucking-tastic.
As we start off the field, I’m tackled, this time by a bundle of soft woman who wraps herself around me, not caring that I’m sweating buckets. The guys laugh, but I can’t find it in me to do the same, especially when she lays a deep kiss on me. Just like that, my body goes from field warrior mode to ready-to-fuck and I pray my shirt is long enough to hide my erection.
“That was so hot,” Katie whispers when she finally pulls away from me, hands cupping my cheeks.
“You like watching me play football, babe?”
She licks her lips, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed. “I love watching you play football,” she breathes. “But I think you need to work on your ball control.”
“Oh yeah? Think you can help me with that?”
Her smile is pure wickedness and I don’t know if we’re going to make it home before I have to be inside her to show her just how well I can handle my balls.
But any thoughts of getting her feet planted on the ceiling of my truck’s cab are dashed when Eduardo calls out, “We catching beers at Copper’s?”
I almost say I’d have to catch a rain check. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but my woman knows how much the team means to me, the camaraderie that goes with being a part of an organization, even if it is just a bunch of guys playing flag football on the weekends.
“First round is on us,” she calls back. “But you guys go on ahead, we’ll meet you there.”
There’s a bunch of laughs and catcalls because, while I’ve only a part of the team since January, Katie’s been at every practice and they all know my woman really likes to watch me sweat. We’ve been late to almost every after-practice get together since and I’m perfectly okay continuing that tradition with post-game celebrations. The best part of their joking though is when Katie doesn’t even seem to notice, no longer self-conscious about us being seen together, or what pictures are taken.
Now, our house is decorated with snapshots taken of us posted on social media. She jokes that we won’t even need to buy a camera to document our life together because someone’s always taking pictures. It makes me feel better that she’s comfortable with us being us, without shame and without embarrassment.
“You ready to teach me some ball control?” I ask and watch her grin widen.
“I was born ready, Steady.”
I kiss her hard and put her back down, looping my arm around her waist as we head off the field to pick up her papers. There’s laughter from my teammates and their wives as we walk by, but it’s all in good fun. Because my band nerd had to get a jersey to match mine so that when we’re together we read, “Steady As a Rock”.
And we are.
The End
(in no particular order)
Commodores “Brick House”
The Black Keys “Howlin’ For You”
John Legend “All of Me”
Patti Smith “Because the Night”
Fleetwood Mac “Tusk”
Fats Domino “Whole Lotta Loving”
Coldplay “Yellow”
Aretha Franklin “Chain of Fools”
Alicia Keys “No One”
Macklemore & Ryan Lewis “Can’t Hold Us”
Flo Rida “Wild Ones”
The Black Keys “Gold on the Ceiling”
James Brown “Sex Machine”
Van Halen “Hot for Teacher”
John Lennon “Grow Old with Me”
Scandal “Goodbye to You”
Faith No More “Last Cup of Sorrow”
Nothing More “Here’s to the Heartache”
Danica Avet was born and raised in the wilds of South Louisiana where mosquitoes are big enough to carry off small children and there are only two seasons: hot and hotter. With a BA in History, she figured there were enough fry cooks in the world and decided to try her hand at writing.
Writing is how she gives the voices in her head a way out. They speak to her constantly wanting their stories told and she does her best to accommodate them.When she isn’t writing, working, or contemplating the complexities of the universe, she spends time gathering inspiration from her insane family, reads far more than any sane person would want to, and watches hot burly men chase an oblong ball all over a field.
Website: www.danicaavet.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Danica-Avet-Writer-108148517161/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DanicaAvet
Contemporary Romance
Crushes to Cravings series:
Freeze Tag
Playing Doctor
Kiss Chase
Southern Sin Trilogy:
Sweetest Taste of Sin
Born to Sin
Sinning to Win
Paranormal Romance
Olympus, Inc.:
Immortal Love
Immortal Game
The Veil series:
Ruby: Uncut and on the Loose
Succubus-in-Waiting
Lifestyles of the Fey and Dangerous
Ain’t No Bull
Reindeer Games series:
Rude’s Awakening
Blitzen’s Savior
Sci-Fi Erotic Romance
Caressed by Starlight:
Meeting Croe
Adding Tyn