Page 56 of Good Girl's Guide to Love
I shake my head. “Just another water would be great.”
The waitress gives us a nod, while also clearing away the smattering of appetizer baskets that we’ve gone through during this game. Wings. Mozzarella sticks. Jalapeño poppers. Cheese fries. More sides of ranch than any one table should have. If I knew that watching football also came with endless apps, I’d have start coming with Mia to watch years ago.
“Still not drinking?” Mia asks, and I shake my head before the question is out of her mouth.
“If you do order shots, can you make sure it isn’t Fireball? That might send me over the edge.”
This makes her laugh as the game comes back from commercial. The score is tied, and it’s been back and forth since the first quarter. There’s five minutes left of the game and the Fury have the ball, but if there’s one thing I know about football, it’s that five minutes takes a very long time. At least, that’s how I remember it when I went to my yearly UT football game with the family.
I don’t think I’ve ever watched a football game as intently as I have tonight. And I’ve been holding up my end of the bargain in the overthinking department. How does he not get hurt? What if he does get hurt? Is the yellow line on the television real or just for us at home? Are they allowed to go to the bathroom during the game? Why does the quarterback just shout random words? Thankfully, Mia is an amazing teacher and hasn’t rolled her eyes at me once.
I also finally know what the yellow flag means.
As for Linc, he’s been catching most of the balls. Mia reassured me that rarely, if ever, does anyone catch every single pass thrown to them, which made me feel better. According to the stats that I’ve been keeping up with on my phone, he has caught for ninety-eight yards tonight. He was close to atouchdown in the second quarter, but there was a penalty on the play that negated it.
I knew that because of the yellow flag. I think it was holding. Which I still can’t tell what that is, but I know it’s against the rules.
“Let’s go!” Mia yells, clapping her hands for emphasis as the Fury onto the field. “One more, boys!”
I never understood when people would yell at the television when watching a game. It’s not like they can hear you. But I must say, more than once tonight I’ve found myself doing the same thing. It’s oddly therapeutic.
“Okay, what needs to happen now?” I ask as the players line up and Bryce starts calling a play.
“So when it’s tied like this toward the end of the game, it’s all about strategy,” Mia explains as he hands the ball off to the running back, both positions I learned the names of tonight. “The goal is to score, obviously, but you want to do it while also wasting as much time as possible. The quicker you score, the more time the other team has to come back, and you don’t want that.”
“Makes sense,” I say. “How do they take their time?”
Mia laughs as another play is about to begin. “That’s a lesson for game like three or four. Just know, for tonight, the longer the Fury has the ball, the better their chances are.”
Fair enough. My brain is already flooded with football knowledge I never thought I’d have. I think I’m tapped out for the night.
I don’t think I blink as the Fury slowly makes their way up the field. At some point, I’ve stood from the high-top chair I’d been sitting on, my arms crossed in nervousness as each play unfolds.
“Is every game this intense?”
Mia shakes her head as the Fury converts another first down. “God, no. This one is on another level.”
That makes me feel slightly better. Because if this is what I signed up for this season, I don’t know how I’m going to have any nails left.
The Fury leaves the huddle and lines up. Linc is on the field and like many plays tonight, all I do is watch him. It guarantees I don’t miss anything, even if the play doesn’t go to him. But it’s been fascinating to watch. I didn’t realize how much football was like dance choreography. Everyone has a place to go and timing in which they have to get there. If one person does their job wrong, it sends the whole group off. I might not know what they’re doing, or how they know what to do just by Bryce bellowing out words, but they do, and it’s a beautiful thing to watch.
Now the tackling? I could do without that.
Bryce gets the ball snapped to him and he runs back, looking for a player to throw it to. My nails are to my lips again as I see Linc running to the center of the field, and like so many times tonight, he leaps above the defender, catching the ball out of the air before falling to the ground. And because it went past the yellow line that’s only on television, I now know they got a first down.
“Yes!” I scream and jump up and down, hugging Mia. “That’s over a hundred yards!”
“Fuck yeah, it is!” Mia says. “And now they’re in the red zone. That means they’re within twenty yards of the end zone.”
“Good to know,” I say, quickly taking a drink of water as the team comes back together. My eyes roam around the bar, taking in all the Fury fans who came out tonight. It’s a home game, and I knew that downtown would be crazy, which is why Mia and I found a place a little outside of town, hoping it wouldn’t be as crazy.
I was wrong about that. The bar is packed. I still don’t know how we found a table. Hordes of men are gathered around, yelling at the television for every play, good or bad. There are a few women here, but none of them are watching as intently as Mia and I. And if I’m not mistaken, a few of them have sent glances my way. My brain automatically assumes that I have something in my teeth or toilet paper stuck to my shoe, but I also saw them looking at their phones before looking at me, and I remember that I’m not unknown Ainsley Banks anymore.
I’m Linc Kincaid’s girlfriend.
“Okay, we’re back,” Mia says as she rubs her hands together. “A few more run plays then let’s put this baby in the end zone.”
As if she had a copy of the Fury playbook, the team does exactly that. Two running plays, which puts them around the ten-yard-line with a minute twenty left.
