We were well into the fourth quarter when Ainsley glanced at her phone, a frown marring her lips. It wasn’t the first time I caught her scowling at something on the screen; she’d been glancing at it off and on throughout the game.
“Is everything okay?” I asked during a moment of quiet. Well, relatively quiet considering the constant chatter from the stands.
She looked up, shoving her phone into her back pocket, and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, just a wrong number.”
I couldn’t say why, but I didn’t believe her. It was clear she wasn’t ready to talk about what was bothering her. No pressure from me.
With only a few minutes left in the game, the Knights trailed the opposing team by three points. We had to score on this next drive or kiss our homecoming game victory goodbye. No one wanted that dark cloud over their head tonight. It would definitely put a damper on the after-parties.
Our offense got into formation, Brock behind the center. His strong voice called out the countdown right before the ball snapped into his waiting, sturdy hands. He shuffled backward and then to the side, avoiding not one but two tackles as the right tackle and left outside linebacker rushed to get their hands on our quarterback.
Then Brock dropped his hand back, finding his opening, and tossed the ball. It spiraled down the field straight into the hands of my boyfriend. Micah’s fingers secured the catch, and the race against the clock began. He never stopped running, and as he tucked the ball into his chest, his legs pumped toward the end zone.
The entire stadium fell silent, watching Micah haul ass. I glanced at the clock, holding my breath.
Ten seconds.
Two of the defensive players for the other team were on his heels, chasing after him.
Five seconds.
Micah ran, his feet flying over the ground, dirt kicking up behind him.
Two seconds.
The end zone was in sight. Just a few more feet. My heart thumped in my chest. This was nearly as stressful as getting stabbed. Nearly. A different kind of adrenaline rush.
Micah crossed into the end zone, and I exhaled.
The Knights won.
Cheers erupted throughout the stadium, hands clapping and feet stomping in thunderous rhythm. Kenna, Josie, Ainsley, and I jumped, the four of us screaming from the stands.
Within seconds, Micah was surrounded by his teammates as they dashed off the sidelines and scrambled down the field. Micah tossed the ball onto the ground right before he was engulfed by the other players. He was born to be at the center of everything he did with a damn crooked smile on his lips.
Tonight would be one long-ass victory party.
As much as I wanted to hurdle over the bleachers and run onto the field to congratulate him, I hung back with my friends, giving Brock and Micah their moment of glory.
But I didn’t have to wait long. Micah jogged over to my section of the stands. He already had his helmet off, and once his eyes connected with mine, he pointed at me. “Get down here!” he yelled, shaking out his hair and grinning. The crowd around me only encouraged him, growing louder.
Josie nudged my shoulder, and the next thing I knew, I was moving down the row. People parted, letting me pass by; all the while, I was suppressing the urge to hide under the bleachers, my cheeks warming with embarrassment. “You’re crazy,” I told when him I reached the bottom.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his chest. The crowd went nuts. “Crazy about you.”
Shaking my head, I replied, “When did your lines get so cheesy?”
His laugh, like the man himself, was enamoring. He tilted his head in a side jerk, indicating he wanted us to leave. The celebration had already begun on and off the field. As we walked the long length toward the players' locker room, coaches, teammates, students, teachers, and parents all congratulated Micah, slapping him on the back, shouting his jersey number, shaking his hand, or calling his name. It was mayhem but in the best possible way. He kept me at his side the entire time, fingers curled against mine.
Unlike a lot of the players, his parents weren’t in the stands. They were overseas and hadn’t come to the game, but for Micah, it was far less stressful not having them here.
When we cleared the stadium, the crowd could still be heard but at a much more manageable volume. My ears would probably ring for a week, and I told myself not to compare it to the explosion. Today was not the day for bad memories. This was a day for happiness, pride, and fucking parties, as Micah would say.
I could tell he wanted to sweep me up into his arms, but his fear of hurting me kept my feet planted on the ground. “You can hug me, at least,” I offered, gazing up into his face. Arms came around my shoulders and neck, careful to keep his hold far from my injured side, and I instantly relaxed, loosely wrapping my hands around his waist. “You need a shower,” I protested weakly, loving his intoxicating scent even when it was almost masked by sweat and earth.
The ends of his hair were damp. He was exhausted from the grueling game, yet excitement danced in his eyes. “Maybe you can help me out of these clothes. I could sneak you into the locker room,” he said with a playful hook of his lips.
The dimples did me in. If he kept smiling at me like this, I’d be a puddle at his feet, following him anywhere, even into the guys’ locker room. I wanted to taste his lips. “Stop trying to tempt me.”