Game Day Box Set: A College Football Romance

by Lily Cahill

  “You ready, Mayhew?” Riley nods at me.

  I pump my arms again and nod. I still can’t believe Coach Prescott didn’t kick me off the team. I glance at him, speaking quietly with West in one corner. He didn’t sound too sure of the decision when he called me yesterday, but I’m determined to prove to him that I should be here.

  Now I just have to prove to Nara that I deserve her too. I read her letter. Three times through, actually. I was still angry the first time, but reading her words to me was like a balm. The bruise of humiliation was soothed with each new line from her, each explanation. She made a mistake. But Lord knows I’ve made my own share of mistakes.

  And I won’t make a mistake with Nara. Not with the woman I love. I explained as much to Mum and Father when I told them I wouldn’t be going back to England with them. I think, this time, it really does mean I’ve been disinherited.

  I expect my parents are already on their flight back to London, but I can’t dwell on that right now. Right now, I have a game to play. Afterward, I have a girl to show just how much I’ve missed. And hopefully, one day, I can rebuild my relationship with my parents. But whatever happens, I can only hope Nara will be at my side.

  Coach Prescott steps up onto a bench, and the locker room goes still.

  “This is it, men. The chance to finally put the past behind us. To prove to everyone out there in the stands, watching at home, all those people who doubt that we are really back. It’s time to show them just who we are.”

  Coach Prescott looks out over us, staring at each of his players in turn. When he gets to me, I stare right back, my head held high. He nods slightly at me, then moves on.

  “Who are we?” Coach Prescott shouts.

  “Mustangs!” The roar of a hundred men pounds through the room.

  “I can’t hear you!”

  We’re stomping now, shouting, slamming our fists against the lockers. I tip my head back and bellow. “Mustangs!”

  “One more time!”

  “Mustangs!”

  “Then get out there and scare the living hell out of the other team. We can win this. We will win this!”

  Energy pops and explodes through me. I snatch my helmet off the bench beside me and jog with the team toward the tunnel. For the first time ever, I jump up and slap the time-worn declaration painted on the lintel.

  Can’t stop the stampede.

  The concrete is cold and hard against my palm, stings just enough to feel it. I feel it all the way through my skin and bones and into my heart. I’m a Mustang. And I can’t wait to get out on that field and show the world what I can do.

  The air in the tunnel is chilly, but I’m on fire with anticipation and energy. Coaches, trainers, and staff line the tunnel, cheering for us, their team. Up ahead, the stadium is a blur of color and movement and sound, growing louder, bigger, brasher with every foot forward.

  It’s a rumble that seems to shake the very ground, the sound of nearly a hundred thousand fans roaring for us. We burst from the tunnel, and the crowd explodes. All around, it’s a sea of blue and silver, of chants and cheers. The band is all brass and beats, horns blaring the Mustangs fight song.

  Shivers roll down my spine as my cleats hit turf. On either side of us as we jog out of the tunnel the cheerleading squad jumps and shouts. But all I can see right then is one cheerleader. All I can hear is her voice shouting for me.

  All I can feel is my heart pressing against my chest with love for her.

  The sight of her grinds me to a halt, stops me in my tracks, with the rest of the team jumping and running around me. She stops too. She stares at me, almost shyly. But then her beautiful face splits wide in a smile that is louder than anything else around us.

  I drop my helmet and run to her.

  Her eyes are on me, pulling me in, drawing me toward her. Then she’s running too, across the turf and through the players, until we’re there. A foot apart. Just staring. I feel like I haven’t seen her in a lifetime, like I need to drink her in until I’m sated, but I never will be. Not with Nara.

  “You read my letter?” Her voice is so full of hope.

  “I read your letter.”

  I take a step closer. She lifts her chin to look up at me. There are literal stars on either side of her eyes.

  “Ben, I …. Can you forgive me?”

  And that’s it. I can’t handle being this far away from her any longer. I rush to her, envelop her in my arms. The crowd is cheering, my team is running past, but all I can see is her.

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Nara. I just want to be with you.”

  Nara laughs, her eyes bright with tears, and presses her forehead to my jersey. “I love you so much, Ben.”

  “I love you. Forever, Nara.”

  Then I dip my head low and capture her lips with mine, and the feeling is one of completion, of coming home. When I finally pull away, I catch sight of us displayed on the jumbo screen on the opposite end of the field. I groan and bury my face into her neck, but I’m laughing.

  “Before you commit too much, you have to know I’m probably penniless.”

  Nara’s strong fingers slip up my neck and grab hold of my chin. She gently pushes my head to look over her left shoulder.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she whispers.

  There, in the front row right behind the coaches, are my parents. They look equal parts uncomfortable and interested, but Mum is wearing my number on her shirt and Father has a string with two coconut shells hanging around his neck. The coconuts look ridiculous against the cloth of his Savile Row suit, and I know I’ll remember the sight of him like this for the rest of my life. They see me, and Mum stands up and waves.

  A laugh of disbelief rolls out of me. “What’d you do?” I ask Nara.

  “I told your mom something she didn’t want to hear, but I told her the truth. She loves you, Ben. Your dad does too.”

  I stare down at Nara, at her open face warm with emotion. She has worked such a change in me, sometimes I can’t believe what I once was. My arms wrap tight around her, my palms sliding across the skin of her waist as I lift her up into my arms. I kiss her with everything I have, every ounce of love. And she kisses me right back.

  “Ben,” she whispers against my lips.

  “Yes?”

  “Go play some football.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nara

  I CRANE MY NECK UP to smile into the stands. They’re alive with fans, moving and shouting and wearing the famous Mustang hats. My blue-and-silver poms are tight in my hands as I shake them overhead. Behind us, our team is lining up on the field to receive the kick to start the game.

  Nerves jangle and jump through me. This game means everything—we need the win to keep our budding hopes for a national championship alive. But more than that, more than who wins and bowl games and championships … this game can prove once and for all that MSU is more than a horrible scandal. That those men out of the field—called the second-string, the bench, the B-team—those men are a team to watch. The team to fear.

  Around me, my squad jumps, tumbles, shakes poms, shouts. Of the twenty members of the squad, six are men. Chad, Josh, and the others support girls in shoulder sits, giving our formation a high-low appearance. In the stands, thousands of fans clap their coconut shells together, a growing stampede. We join in, stamping our feet, shaking our poms low. The noise grows and grows until it roars in my ears, through my blood. As a single unit, my squad turns toward the field, our poms held low.

  A whistle blows, and OU kicks the ball. We shake our poms higher, higher as the ball arcs through the air until … there. The ball connects with Riley’s capable hands, and he’s off like a shot, barreling down the field. A furious growl and the thud of pads hitting, helmets crashing, and our guys are stopped at their forty yard line.

  My eyes find Ben on the sidelines. Coach slaps him on the shoulder, and he jogs onto the field. My stomach is in knots—excitement and nerves bubbling through me. Ben turns as he jo
gs to look back at me, his deft feet still propelling him backward onto the field. His eyes find mine—lock onto me. The grin on my face could light the stadium right now. He points at me, then turns back around and joins his team at the line.

  With a call from Higgins, we get into formation and throw up a rolling series of stunts—half-extensions and full. Chad and Nick are basing for me, and they press me up onto their hands high above their heads. I lock out my legs to keep steady and hold up the sign that reads “stampede.”

  Even standing high above the ground, the stands are still over my head. But I feel alive up here—the wind whispering at my neck, the screams from the fans all around. I hold the sign high for the simple cheer.

  We get the crowd roaring “Can’t stop! The stampede!” over and over as our guys brace at the line. At the whistle, Chad and Nick flick their hands so I drop out of the stunt. I spin around, my gaze searching for Ben.

  There. At the far side. Reggie snaps the ball to West, and Ben takes off. My God, he’s fast. It nearly takes my breath away to see him out there, tearing down the field, his legs digging into the turf, his arms pumping. He’s not just fast, but quick and agile too. He darts around one OU defensemen, feints past another. Then West lets loose, and the ball is soaring through the air. I hold my breath, watching, watching, watching.

  The ball lands directly into Ben’s hands, and he takes off. There are three defensemen barring his way, but he throws one shoulder low and runs for it. He darts left, right, rolls in a circle and keeps running. He’s nearly there! Nearly!

  A giant OU lineman takes him out so hard I can feel it in my bones.

  “Ben!” I scream it, not even aware.

  Behind us, the stands erupt in boos, but the OU band fires up a fast march that has their fans clapping and shouting. My eyes skitter to the refs—surely that was unnecessary roughness—but they remain still. A whistle shrills through the air, and Coach Prescott signals for a timeout.

  We’re at the twenty yard line, within sight of our first touchdown. I can barely move, but Higgins calls for us to run through another cheer, and my training kicks in.

  “Basket toss, Nara!”

  My heart jumps. Up in the stands, I spy Ben’s parents watching me. And … and my own parents nearby. They’ve got Yaya with them and more of the family—aunts, uncles, cousins. All here for the game, for me. I smile at one of my small cousins, a girl who is a middle school cheerleader in Denver. She sees me and jumps up, shouting and waving.

  How many other little black girls are in the stands right now, or watching on TV? How many are going to see me at the center of it all and realize they can dream for anything they want? Anything. A glance at the jumbo screens shows my squad larger than life for all to see.

  The cheer is simple—it’s too loud for anything hard—a repetitive “Mustangs! Mustangs! Let’s go, Mustangs!”

  I’m at the center of the formation when I throw a standing back tuck then a back handspring. My legs snap together, and I straighten up, my hands held high. This is it. My heart hammers so hard I swear my ribs will crack, but I can do this. I want to do this. I throw another back handspring and fall backward into the cradled arms of Chad and Josh. They bounce me up so I can get my legs under me and press me up into a quick extension, then back down.

  The spotter and third base circle in tight, and I perch on their interlocked arms. One. Two. Down. Up!

  I explode into the sky, higher than I’ve ever flown before. It feels like the world has slowed, like I’ll fly forever. I arch back into the layout, my limbs tight and my core locked. I’m still soaring, soaring. Righted, I kick out into a toe touch then snap my body back together for the cradle. The crowd whistles and cheers as I jump out of the stunt, and I do too. I feel alive, so alive. So happy.

  The timeout is over nearly as soon as I’ve landed the basket toss, and the game continues. Ben is out there again, my heart with him. It’s intense, watching the man I love out there.

  The OU defense is a wall of muscle and strength, and they ram into our men as soon as Reggie snaps the ball. West sets up to throw, then hands it off to Ben in a surprise move. He rushes sideways along the field, searching for an opening. The crowd is screaming, going wild. I jump on the balls of my feet, screaming right with them.

  “Go!” I shout at him. “Go, go, go!”

  And he does. He goes like mad. Moving quick, Ben finds an opening and slices through the OU defense. There are hands on him, men trying to drag him down. But Ben shoves his way through, and he’s free! The end zone is twenty yards away, and there are defensemen on him, nearly tackling him. Ben explodes forward and lets loose, like a shot.

  The entire stadium screams and shouts, encouraging Ben on. He’s so close. Fifteen yards. Ten. Five.

  “Touchdown!”

  Music and screaming and stomping explode all around as we celebrate our first touchdown against OU.

  The game plays out in tackles and touchdowns, screams and groans. OU is a tough team, but we’re tougher. By halftime, the score is tied up 21-21. But a touchdown from Riley on the first play after halftime pulls us ahead, and we don’t stop there.

  Through the third quarter, deep into the fourth, our Mustangs run up the score. But OU isn’t giving up. A late touchdown with only two minutes to play brings them within ten points of us. Coach calls his last timeout, and even I’m too keyed up to do the cheer Coach Higgins calls out. Chad grabs my waist and pops me into a simple shoulder stand, so my feet are planted on his shoulders, and we keep the crowd revved up for the timeout.

  “You okay up there, girl?” Chad shouts up to me. It’s so loud in the stadium, I can barely hear him. “You’re shaking so much I can hardly hold you still.”

  “Sorry!” I shout down to him, smiling at the crowd and throwing my arms straight up above my head in a “number one” motion. “Too excited!”

  Chad taps the back of my calf to signal he’s going to dismount, and I jump down, his hands at my waist to soften the landing. Chad’s smile is wide and wicked. “Your man is out there. I get it.”

  “God, he’s amazing, isn’t he?” I gush.

  Chad just shakes his head, but he’s still smiling.

  The refs signal, and our men rush back out onto the field. It’s our defensive line, but Ben jogs out there with them, still wearing his number seventy-nine jersey. I watch him, frowning. He’s a wide receiver, he’s on offense, yet he lines up out on the field at the end of our defensive line, in the cornerback position. It’s highly irregular to switch up an offensive and defensive player, and only technically legal, but we’ve all learned Coach Prescott is not exactly a regular coach. And with Ben’s quick feet and bravery in the scrum—a word from rugby he’s taught me—I have a suspicion about what the Mustangs are going for.

  OU snaps, and their quarterback lobs the ball high. Ben is there, streaking down the field toward OU’s wide receiver. He jumps high, throwing his body into the air, and snatches the ball just before OU’s man can catch it.

  Interception! The stands are shaking people are stomping so loudly, and over the piercing cries of our fans, I can hear my own voice, shouting for Ben, encouraging him on.

  He barrels down the field. It’s an impossible run—seventy yards from his line to the end zone, with nearly an entire OU team between him and victory. But Ben is an impossible man—arrogant but kind, formal but warm, quiet but sharp. He feints and dodges, and our defensemen do their job, bodily clearing a way for him through the center of the field.

  For a moment, Ben disappears into the push and pull of men on the field. But then he’s there, breaking free, running fast. The ball still tight in his arm.

  Closer. Closer. He’s almost there … then.

  Touchdown!

  We’ve won. We’ve won! There’s still a minute left to play, but there’s no catching us now. West, Reggie, and the others rush out onto the field, but Ben runs my way. His eyes on me, his body a wonder of lean muscles and powerful agility. I’m drawn to him, jogging
from the sidelines onto the field toward him.

  He tugs off his helmet, and it hangs from his hand. His hair is wet with sweat, and his face is smeared with dirt. But his eyes—vivid blue—those are clear and ocean-warm and focused on me.

  Then without a word, he pulls me into a kiss that sears me to the core. I lean into it, into him, and kiss Ben back with everything I’m feeling, the happiness and excitement and love. All around us, the crowd goes wild with cheers. But right now, all I care about is this one man in front of me, his arms around me.

  We’re surrounded by a hundred thousand people, but we’re the only two who matter in the entire universe. After a long moment, Ben pulls back.

  “Go Mustangs,” he growls, a devious grin exposing a dimple in his cheek.

  “Mmm,” I murmur, still too ablaze with that kiss to do much talking. “You were just overcome with school spirit?”

  Ben’s hand at the small of my back tugs me closer. “Something like that.”

  “Shut up and kiss me again, Lord Mayhew.”

  And he does.

  Chapter One

  West

  I TURN UP THE SHOWER in the locker room’s private stall until it’s boiling hot and the burst of water feels like being pelted by nails.

  I fucking deserve it. Another game over, and another shit performance from yours truly.

  A victorious howl sounds from the main bay of lockers, where the rest of the team is still celebrating. We won. But it was in spite of me, not because of me.

  My timing was off. The three touchdowns we scored should have been five, hell seven. And I wasn’t responsible for a single one. If the game relied solely on me, we would have been sunk.

  And it’s not just this game. It’s been happening since the national championships last year.

  At least then I had the excuse that I’d only had a total of four minutes of play time before being thrust off the bench and into the big game. The sex scandal that broke over winter break last year left us with a broken team, and me as their only option as the starting quarterback. What a joke. I threw away any hope we had of winning then, and now I’m doing it again.