Page 56 of Hot Receiver

He figured he had us all by the balls.

But now it’s us with the ball.

We move down the field again. Screams reverberate between my ears, my pulse stuck in my throat.

It’s preseason. It doesn’t matter at all.

But to me, it’s very fucking personal. Not in any way business.

It’s not like a win will save me from Travers, but if we hand them their first loss of the season, if Zak Kacey forces that jagged pill down Brett’s throat, maybe he’ll choke on it a little bit.

Or a lotta bit.

A win for us won’t change the past, and it definitely won’t alter the future.

But in some weird way, it’ll be justice.

The Crusaders move down the field again, and now the score is seventeen to sixteen. We’re down by one point.

One fucking point.

A quick look at the clock shows that there are only forty seconds left of the game. Coach Greaves points to me and then to the field.

“Get out there, Harrison,” he yells, his face now a disturbing shade of purple.

He wants me to go for the field goal. A forty-seven-fucking-yardfield goal.

My leg muscles tense as I jog out to my spot behind the holder.

I blow out an unsteady breath. My eyes tangle with Brett’s, and he lances me with a death glare.

I can’t help but smirk, even now with the whole game riding on me.

Blood rushes between my temples, pounding hard in my ears and drowning out the sound of the fans. I get into position, but it’s a bad snap.

The holder drops the ball. The stadium erupts with boos.

I don’t listen. I don’t think.

I lurch forward, grab the ball off the ground, and run like there’s a crocodile snapping at my ass. Panting, my eyes dart in all directions until I find a hole in the line.

I’m gonna do this.

My cleats dig into the grass, my calves singed by flames winding tight around them. My lungs hurt, eyes watering as I gasp for breath. Driving my legs faster, harder, until the end zone is in sight. I keep my eyes on the prize until I cross that line. Then I dive over it, land hard on my side, and win the game for the Crusaders.

I lie there for a couple of seconds before my teammates barrel toward me. My first thought should be holy shit, I just won the first preseason game for our team. Me, the kicker, just ran a forty-seven-yard touchdown to win the fucking game.

But it isn’t.

The only thing on my mind right now is Zak and whether or not he’ll try to corner me in a deserted stairwell again because I just brought home the first win of our season.

After a lot of celebrating with the team and a much-needed shower, I head down to the private stairs that will take me to the VIP parking deck where I left my truck. I decided not tohang around too long even though the rest of the team is ready to party like rock stars because of the win.

Maybe there’s a chance I’ll run into Zak. Maybe in the hallway, maybe on the stairs, maybe in some dark corner.

My heart deflates a little bit more and more with every step I take down to the deck.

Zak isn’t waiting for me.

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