Page 47 of Love at Second Down

“Take a breath,” Coach says, his voice softening slightly. “This doesn’t mean you have to decide anything today. It’s just information. Good information.”

I nod, trying to slow my racing thoughts. My father’s face flashes in my head—how he worked double shifts in construction for years for rich men like Reginald Astor so he could keep me in cleats, and pay for those extra training camps that my scholarship didn’t cover.

“What do you think I should do?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

Coach Green’s eyes narrow. “That’s not my call. But I will tell you this—you’ve got raw talent that can’t be taught. Your football IQ is off the charts. But you’re still developing. Another year of college ball would polish those rough edges.” He pauses. “Then again, I think everyone is waiting to see what happens with the championship. If we win . . .” He shakes his head. “Well, you may want to strike while the iron’s hot, if you catch my drift.”

I nod, slightly numb. “Yes, Coach.”

“No pressure.”

Yeah, no pressure.

I force a smile, as a ball of stress fists in my gut, suddenly scared as hell I might screw this up.

“Now get out of here, will you? We still have afternoon practice.” With the flick of a wrist, he dismisses me, and I make my way out of his office, mind racing with the possibilities: everything that can go wrong, but also everything that can go right, from now until the championship game.

The frigid January afternoon greets me as I push outside, pausing on the sidewalk to catch my breath. When I started this journey, I accepted the fact that much of my career outside of college football is beyond my control.

But the Patriots . . .

Holy shit.

The fucking Patriots are looking at me.

Home of the GOAT.

The team with the most Superbowl appearances and wins.

A team based in the northeast, exactly where I want to be.

My hands fist at my side as determination surges through me, hot and steady, burning away my doubt. I can’t fuck this up. Not now. Not when I’m so close to having everything I’ve ever wanted.

I lift my head, searching for my friends—my teammates—eager to tell them the news when I catch sight of a blonde, crossing the sidewalk. Her golden curls bounce with every step she takes as her long legs, clad in skinny jeans and boots, eat up the sidewalk.

My heart jumps in my chest, like an engine sputtering to life, and I know I’m fucked. Because I have less than two weeks until the championship game, and if I can’t get her off my mind and focus, I’m screwed.

Turning, I nearly smack right into Chris in my haste to get away.

“Whoa.” He steadies me with a hand, his gaze flickering to the girl I was staring at only seconds ago, then back. “You want to reconsider my offer?”

I swallow, thinking about what Chris said?about how I need a distraction, how I need to move on and date someone else?and I wonder if he’s right. The truth is, I haven’t even entertained another woman since Avery and I split. Two and a half years of celibacy and a shuttered heart don’t do a lot for healing.

I shake my head, unsure of whether it’s a good idea. “I don’t know, man . . .”

“Wow.” Brandon’s eyes wide beside him. “That’s not a no.”

My insides twist as I look to West, the sound voice of reason in the group. “What do you think?”

“Me?” West points to himself, and I nod.

“Do you really think going out with a new chick right before the championship game is a good idea?” I ask.

West lifts a shoulder. “I don’t think it’ll hurt. It’s not enough time to get invested, but it might be enough to take your mind off Avery.”

I exhale, digesting this information.

“What if you make it a double date?” Jace suggests. “Take the pressure off, so it’s more friendly, less serious?”

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