Page 120 of Good Girl's Guide to Love
The man might as well have given his new team a photocopy of our playbook, that’s how ready they were for us today.
Anytime they could put double coverage on me, they did. I don’t have a touchdown today and barely have fifty yards receiving. It’s by far my worst statistical game of the season. Thank God our coaches are the best in the fucking league, because even though they’ve essentially stopped our offense, our defense has been playing out of their minds. Rockwell doesn’t have a catch. They’ve limited their offense to only field goals. Unfortunately, that’s all we’ve been able to do either, which is why the game is tied with a minute left.
“All right boys, I think I can speak for everyone when I say that I want nothing to do with overtime,” Bryce says in thehuddle. “Two plays, one touchdown, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Everyone nods in agreement as we lean in to hear the play call. “Five wide. Play action left. Tight end leak. On two.”
The play call shocks me. “Are you sure? They’ve been on my ass all game.”
Bryce shakes his head. “You do what you do. Get open. I’ll do the rest.”
The man is a league and championship game MVP. Like I’d doubt him. “You got it, Cap.”
He repeats the play call again as we break from the huddle, and I line up in my stance. I do my best to read the defense, hoping they’re going to play me soft so I can find my seam. They haven’t all game, but teams in this situation usually play to prevent the big play, opting to give up the shorter ones.
All I know is that if they give me an inch, and I can find the route, I’m going to go a fucking mile.
I hold my hand out, signaling to the referee that I’m an eligible receiver and to make sure I’m lined up correctly. My gaze happens to fall on Rockwell, who I’m sure by no coincidence at all is standing in my line of sight.
Prick. I don’t know why the man still think he needs to make my life miserable, but he is. Joke’s on him. He got traded to a mediocre team and will probably have to take less money next year when his contract expires. I’m leading the league in receptions for tight ends, have a beautiful woman watching me somewhere in this stadium, and am living a life I never dreamed of. So he might think he’s getting in my head, but I couldn’t give two shits.
I hear Bryce start his cadence, and I take one more glance at the defense before I take off on the count. I fake the block that the play calls for before sneaking out to the right. Like I thought, the defenders are playing to stop the big play, or covering thereceivers we had lined up on the opposite side of the field, which leaves me wide open in the flat. Bryce and I lock eyes, and before I know it, he’s gunning the ball to me.
Catch. Turn. Go.
I knew I could make it a few yards, and just out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the safeties heading toward me. I stop on a dime, juking him out as he whiffs on the tackle. Which is when I realize that I have twenty yards to victory.
And I take off. Twenty yards never seems far in practice. Or doing a warmup. And in reality, it’s not. But when all you can see is the end zone, a victory, but also knowing you have defenders on your ass doing their best to chase you down, it can seem like a mile.
I see out of the corner of my eye teammates flanking behind me, having my back to try to stop any potential defenders from tackling me. I glance out of the corner of my eye, which is when I see Maddox losing his shit on the sideline, and another teammate just pointing to the end zone.
And the second I cross it, not a soul tackling me, I hold up the ball like it’s a fucking trophy.
Because Brad Rockwell be damned, I fucking won.
“Holy shit!” someone yells as Wyatt runs to me and hoists me in the air. I slap his pads a few times before he puts me down. There’s still thirty seconds left on the clock, so we have to get off the field before we get a penalty. But that doesn’t stop me from doing what I’ve done after every touchdown this season, crossing my heart for Ainsley.
“What the hell was that?” Bryce asks as we make our way to the sideline.
“You said two plays. Figured if I could do it in one, why not?”
He laughs and slaps me on the back. “Good game, Kincaid. I know they were on your ass. You overcame. Kept your head down and grinded. That’s how you do it.”
“Thanks, man,” I say as we exchange a handshake. A few more teammates come over and congratulate me, and just as I’m catching my breath, the game clock expires, and the Fury have another win on the season.
8-0.
Fuck yeah.
I run out onto the field with my teammates for the post-game handshakes. Luckily this isn’t college where we all have to line up and tell everyone good game, meaning I don’t need to face Rockwell. However, he apparently missed me because he’s in my face just as I get to midfield.
“You held on that last play,” he digs, which all I can do is laugh.
“You know I fucking didn’t. Then again, you didn’t get flagged for shoving Maddox in the second quarter, so who knows what you think should be called on the field.”
Sometimes I wish I could still hit people, because I want to punch the smarmy smile off of his smug face. “Oh, I missed you Kincaid. Though, I do get to keep up with your antics in the news. How’s Ainsley, by the way? She realize she can do better than you yet?”
I clench my fist at my side do my best to calm my breathing. “Talk about me all you want Rockwell. I don’t care. But you keep my girl’s name out of your fucking mouth.”
