Page 123 of Every Move You Make

When we’re all standing in the end zone, Zay hands the ball to Coach Bob and smirks. “Who knows the kick game?” Several of us groan, including me, but there’s devious laughter coming from our coaches. This “game” is essentially cleverly disguised suicides with an every-player-for-themself rugby theme.

The ball is kicked, we all run to catch it, and the first one back with the ball wins that round. Tackling is heavily encouraged.

“Normally, there is only one rule in the kick game: the first player back with the ball wins and gets to finish their day while everyone else keeps going. But,” he drawls, “I’m gonna sweeten the pot and say anyone who makes an assisted try also gets to be done for the day.”

Before anyone can say anything, Coach Bob kicks the ball far, and we’re off, racing down the field to be the first to catch it. I’m gunning for the ball when it bounces near the thirty-yard mark and, mercifully, takes a detour my way.

Mine!

Picking it up as fast as possible, I scramble to run back, but as soon as I turn, Isaiah tackles me. “What are you doing?” I squeak, taken aback by his hands-on involvement in this game. Due to his previous injuries, everyone knows he’s off-limits for a proper tackle, but he can still join in the fun—just like he did on the beach.

He yanks the ball away from me, and there’s not just mischief in his eyes anymore. There’s the wild competition, and he grits out, “Winning.”

He’s dashing away before I can get to my knees, but Skirt gently slams into him and strips the ball away before sprinting for the try line with Toni hot on her tail, yelling, “With you!”

Skirt checks her periphery once, and before Mo can get too close, Skirt passes the ball to Toni, who darts for the try line and scores. Round one is complete as Toni and Skirt give each other a double high-five and laugh through labored breathing.

As the “game” goes on, once again Isaiah surprises me by running every round, down and back. He scores his first try in round two with an assist, but he keeps running. I win round four, and he keeps running, playing, chasing—all with a sinister smile.

Standing in the end zone and cheering for my remaining teammates (and my secret Coach boyfriend), I can’t help but see all of us on the beach again, playing in the rain, goofing around. I see his mom and dad running in their backyard with kids hanging off every limb.

I see Coach Isaiah Johanssen finding himself.

There are twenty-two players on the field today, and he runs every last kick.

Chapter 46

Photoshoot

Robyn

For the first time since the three of us decided to be in a secret relationship, we spent the night apart. I left for New York in my Jeep right after practice on Wednesday so I could spend the night in the city (thankfully on Adidas’ dime, becausedangthat hotel was fancy). The guys called me on the drive, and we talked the whole way. The best part was finding snacks Isaiah had hidden for me in my center console.

Then, because he had been snooping—I mean, it’sIsaiah—he mentioned my complete lack of emergency roadside gear and told me he’d be giving me flares and whatnot when I got back. I acted like he was weird, but I actually swooned a little.

He’s so protective.

It’s been raining all morning, but the gloomy weather can’t keep me down. I want to keep the promise I made to my guys: I won’t hide my shoulders. I’ll be proud of them and show them off. The thing is, most days I am secure in my body. I am proud of what it can do and how I’ve built it, but there are just times when I can’t love it. I can’t even like it.

But today is not that day!

The driver Adidas sent for me tucks me under an umbrella, and all my belongings are brought inside the high-end highrise.

“Ms. Cassidy, welcome,” a short, sophisticated Black manwith a sharp haircut and a pristine, all-black suit says. He holds out his hand, and I shake it way too eagerly.

“Thank you. Hello.”

“My name is Xavier, your photographer Ingrid Harper-Tate’s assistant.”

“Oh yes,” I beam, and for some reason I decide to hug him. “I remember emailing you.”

“That’s right,” he says with an unsteady tone and a tense hold before I let go. “If you would, please follow me. All your belongings will be waiting for you in the studio.”

“Oh, um, actually I’m supposed to wait for my…” I trail off, unsure if I should reveal that a professional rugby player is waiting for her mommy.

“Your agent Diedra? She’s already here,” Xavier says crisply, and gestures for me to follow him.

I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t.Sure. Let’s go with ‘agent.’

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