Page 38 of The Riskiest Move

“Me too, man. But we’ve got film to study and plenty to work on in practice. We’ll be ready for the next one.”

I nod, trying to take Rogan’s words to heart. He’s right, of course. We can’t dwell on this loss. We need to learn from it and move forward.

“You’re right,” I say, standing up. “Thanks, man.”

Rogan gives me a fist bump. “Anytime. Now, go home and get some rest. We’ve got a long week ahead of us.”

After showering and changing into street clothes, I gather my things, heading out of the locker room. As I walk through the hallways, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that Scarlett isn’t waiting for me. But why would she be? She has no obligation to stick around after a loss.

Still, a small part of me had hoped to see her face, to get a reassuring smile, or maybe even a hug. As I reach my car, I pull out my phone and see a text.

Scarlett: Great game today, despite the outcome. That touchdown catch was amazing! Hope you’re not beating yourself up too much.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through my chest at her words. It’s nice to know she was paying attention and cared enough to reach out. I type out a quick reply.

Thanks, Scarlett. Means a lot. Still bummed about the loss, but your message helps.

I hit send and start my car, ready to head home and put this game behind me. As I pull out of the parking lot, my phone buzzes again.

Glad I could help a little. If you need anything or just want to talk, I’m here.

Her thoughtfulness warms me, easing some of the stinging that comes with defeat. I consider her offer for a moment.

Actually, I could use a distraction. Want to grab a late dinner?

I send the message before I can change my mind. A few moments later, my phone lights up.

Why don’t you come over here. I’ve got the house to myself, and I was about to make tacos.

Her suggestion already has the disappointed feeling in the pit of my stomach lessening.

I’d like that. What time?

Head on over. I’ll get cooking.

See you soon.

Scarlett is sittingon the front stoop when I pull into her driveway. Smiling, she waves at me as I shut down the engine and climb from my car. I push the door closed and walk the path that leads to her. “Hey,” she says, rising.

“Hi.” I smile, joining her on the top step.

Her arms slip around my waist, surprising me. I wrap her up in my hold, taking advantage of the comfort she’s offering. Herembrace is warm, and I allow myself to relax into it. I breathe in her soft floral scent mingling with the salty tang of the sea breeze. For a moment, I forget about the game; it’s only her body against mine and the feeling of being held.

“You played really well today,” she says softly, pulling back to look at me. Her blue eyes are full of sincerity. “That touchdown catch was incredible.”

I manage a small smile. “Thanks. I wish it had been enough to win the game.”

She nods sympathetically. “I know. Losses are tough. But you can’t win them all, right?”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” I say with a wry chuckle.

“Come on,” she says, taking my hand. “Let’s get inside. I’ve got tacos waiting, and I’m starving.”

I follow her inside, and the smell of seasoned meat and warm tortillas fills the air. She releases my hand, wandering across the kitchen to the stove, and I instantly miss the contact.

“Thanks for inviting me over.”

“Of course,” she replies.

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