As soon as Howell said amen, we clapped in unison and filed out of the locker room. I shoved my helmet on my head, ready to take the field. I didn’t care what the fans did or shouted. We were going to win this game. And I’d catch every fucking pass Wes threw my direction to shut them up.
It was everything we expected. The announcer called for the Wranglers, and as we stormed onto the field, the jeers were deafening. It only fueled our hatred. They thought they were getting in our heads, but they were feeding our determination to win.
We waited on the away sideline while the Warriors ran out of their tunnel. The fans cheered. There was a burst of fireworks overhead. Everything was a production. It didn’t feel like a football game. It felt like a circus.
There were cameras everywhere. Someone shoved a mic in Coach’s face before kickoff. I didn’t know how he handled it.
The Wranglers won the coin toss and opted for us to receive first. I jogged in place, knowing as soon as the special teams were off the field, I’d be on it. I looked toward the booth where Ross, our offensive coordinator, was assessing the defensive. I took my cues from Wes, but sometimes I could tell from Ross’s stance whether or not we had a problem. He looked relaxed from my angle.
The whistle blew and we had the ball on our own thirty-five yard line. It wasn’t a bad place to start. Plenty of room for me to run was how I looked at it.
I jogged onto the field and waited for Wes to call the play. The adrenaline was coursing through me. For a flash of a second I thought about last night. How the adrenaline felt with Natalia. Fuck. I shook my head. The lights blazed in the sky. The camera hovered overhead. The crowd was cheering so loudly I could barely hear Wes’s deep voice.
This was it. The first snap of the season. It was everything we had prepared for. Everything we had wanted. It all started with this first play.
I wiggled my fingers in anticipation. I rocked forward, ready to sprint to my open spot on the field. I expected coverage, but I could get open.
The ball was snapped and I took off on my route. I pivoted, and the ball hit me square in the chest. I ran, avoiding one defender and then another. I crossed the fifty-yard line and made it another five yards before the Warriors’ safety took me to the ground.
“Fuck yeah,” he hollered in my ear.
I jumped up from the ground, brushing the grass off my jersey. “Twenty yards,” I taunted.
He thought he had accomplished something, but we were in their territory and no one had stopped me until I crossed mid-field.
Wes called out the next play and I knew I was blocking this time. I wanted the ball, but I was a hybrid player, meant to throw the defense off. My size gave me the ability to block and my athleticism made me a hell of a receiver.
He handed the ball off to Persons, who took us another fifteen yards down the field. I could smell seven points. We were close.
We lined up on the thirty-yard hash mark. The fans were furious. They felt it too. The energy we pos
sessed was electric. The Wranglers were going straight for the end zone.
This time, Wes threw to Stubbs, who caught the ball just inside the twenty.
I looked at the quarterback and read the signal. We weren’t going to run. No more blocking for me. I was headed straight for the goal line this time.
My heart beat hard, but my hands were steady. I wiggled my fingers and tipped upward, ready to run. I skirted around a lineman and darted across the line. It was a blur. I turned to catch the ball, knowing Wes would find me, but I saw a pair of eyes. Eyes that had pulled me into a deep undertow last night.
I whipped around just in time for the ball to hit me. My fingertips scrambled to hold on to the ball, but I clung to it, bringing it to my chest as the cornerback pounded me to the ground. The ground was solid on my back, but I managed to keep the ball on my chest the entire time. I opened my eyes, rolling to my side to stand when I looked toward the back of the end zone. It wasn’t possible. I forgot I was lying on the ground in front of thousands of angry fans. All I could see was her. There were at least ten yards between us, but I’d memorized every inch of her—there was no mistaking those lips or that body.
What in the hell was she doing here? Why was Natalia staring down at me? And why the fuck was she dressed in a damn Goddess uniform?
Stubbs pulled me from the ground, shaking me from the fog. “Hell yeah, brother.” He smacked my helmet, but my feet were rooted in the grass.
Wes slapped my back, but I felt as if I was in the Twilight Zone, not the end zone. “First TD of the season. That’s how we get it done.”
She stared at me, both of us searching each other’s eyes for answers, but the guys pushed me out of the way so the field goal team could set up for the point after.
I walked sixty yards away from her, trying to figure out what in the hell I was going to do now.
10
Natalia
Oh my God. He fell almost at my feet, as if he had taken a tumble from the sky. Sure, he was in the end zone and I was close to the fans, but I locked on his eyes. I wanted to turn away or cover up or run back to the Goddesses’ locker room, but instead, my boots kept my feet planted in one spot. My hands were on my hips with a pair of golden pom-poms nestled at my side.
Sam was a Wrangler? What in the hell was going on? He walked out of the end zone back to his bench and I stared at the jumbotron. I never paid attention to the opposing team. I barely paid attention to our team. Every time they called Sam Hickson’s name for a catch, they were calling out my Sam? Okay, that was stupid. He wasn’t mine, but last night, he felt like he was mine.