Page 35 of Rocking the Receiver
Yes! I’m officially dating an NFL player, and I’m pretty hyped as well. Known for controlling my emotions, I’m torn between showing how invested I am in the game playing out in front of my mesmerized eyes and concealing my genuine interest.
Not wanted to get busted, I smile at Tim, reach for my water, and guzzle half of the bottle. “Nah, I’m good. I did some research. But thanks.”
I’m no football novice anymore. Only I can’t admit that hearing Elliot talk about games helped to enlighten me. Attending his first professional games strengthened my burgeoning knowledge.
Elliot’s dream came true. He was draft eligible thanks to UT Austin’s mentorship program with The Troopers. It gave him the opportunity to practice under Logan Foster’s supervision, a wide receiver who saw his potential and basically took him under his wing. Elliot’s unwavering determination, hard work, and focus paid off. He got drafted right after college, thanks to a wide receiver named Parker. My boyfriend was pissed that he won’t play alongside Parker, who got traded to Philadelphia, but was thrilled for the opportunity of a lifetime.
After the draft, Elliot dragged me to a tattoo parlor to immortalize his success by marking his skin. “Tattoos are addictive,” Elliot had said once it was done, and I bailed. “It’s the first of many.” Both of his biceps are now adorned with sexy tribal tats.
His impressive preseason performance reinforced his value to the team; Head Coach Oliviera and Wide Receiver Coach Schott confirmed what Foster—or Gunner, as players call him—saw in him. Apparently, Elliot is quick on his feet and blended seamlessly with his NFL team following a somewhat sour college experience. It’s as if he’s always been part of The Austin Troopers, which earned him the LeFire nickname from Coach Dyers, the Offensive Line Coach, who loves to bestow creative monikers.
Go, Elliot!
Consequently, my favorite rookie was given the amazing opportunity to actually play in the first regular season game, then the next one, too.
Right now, though, the score is tight. Carolina is winning 17-14. We’re in the final minutes of the first half, and every play feels like it could shift the momentum. Callum Jones, the impressive quarterback, drops back, scanning the field, and I spot broad shoulders and powerful thighs. Elliot. Too bad his helmet hides his gorgeous strawberry blond hair. The talented rookie makes a break down the sideline. The ball sails through the air in a perfect spiral, landing right in his hands, just past the defender. Dodging a tackle, Elliot cuts inside, surges forward, and crosses into the end zone for a touchdown.
Holy shit. That’s my man!
And now the Troopers are leading.
The crowd erupts. The cheerful Lefevre clan stands as one. The proud secret boyfriend forgets his telltale British nonchalance.
That play is a game-changer, and I jump to my feet.
Woot! Woot!
I catch my breath and chest-bump Tim, overcome with mirth. Elliot’s family is hugging, shouting their excitement over the touchdown celebration music.
Due to conflicting schedules, Elliot’s family couldn’t travel to see his first games live. They made amends by flying over as soon as possible, which means today, and lucked out with a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
And here I am, surrounded by the entire Lefevre family, including their significant others. I’m sitting between my bestfriend and Elliot’s mother. She’s a die-hard football fan, so seeing her youngest play for the NFL has her on edge.
I have to say that I was taken aback when Tim urged me to fly to Texas so that we could attend one of Elliot’s games together. Needless to say that I feel shitty he has no idea how many secrets have piled up over time. My sexual orientation. My fake relationship with Sally. My first ever lasting relationship. My very real relationship with his younger brother. I remained evasive about my relocation to Texas—well, Austin—but our frequent travels limited this line of questioning since we often met in various states.
And last but not least, my paparazzi charade… Thankfully, my stardom hasn’t reached France, and over the years, the few European Barrels performances have been restricted to Scandinavia. Even in the US, I’m not front-page tabloid material. Nevertheless, I make sure the meager number of paparazzi interested in me get a good shot—preferably outside of Texas—and always around a groupie or a female friend.
Lies that my currently high-profile NFL rookie encourages; we both have to work through a few lingering issues… But let’s not get into that just yet and enjoy the ride.
Unaware of my sudden interest in football, Tim has no idea about the perks I get, like free last-minute tickets whenever my music plans allow me to cheer for my boyfriend—courtesy of Caitlin Cole from the PR team.
My best friend claimed I’d been missing out on this piece of American culture. He couldn’t wait for us to watch the star of the family together. I gleefully accepted, telling him he could treat me to dinner instead of the outrageously expensive tickets.
I love Elliot in action, not only when I’m beneath him, my eyes locked on his, and wearing his jersey.
Tim’s hand snatches my wrist, and I’m pulled into the group hug, overwhelmed by excited screams. “Kudos, bro!” For a minute, I forget that I’m a deceitful best friend. At this very moment, only Elliot Lefevre’s success matters.
The audience remains amped during halftime. “Damn, the fans are wild!” my best friend exclaims once he retakes his seat, as does his family. They’re all commenting on the game and actions I’m not sure I follow. I may be well-versed in football now, but I’m far from being an expert like Mrs. Lefevre.
Tim’s right, though, the fans won’t stop. How can I blame them? They’re all raving about LeFire, but either it’s too noisy for Tim to pick it up, or he doesn’t realize who the audience means. I clue him in. “Seriously?”
“Yup! From what I’ve read, giving nicknames is one of the coaches’ favorite pastimes apparently. Every newbie gets one.”
“At least, they didn’t choose The Frog or something similar. I hated it when your friends called me that.”
“I’d forgotten about that. They were idiots. It doesn’t matter now.”
He shrugs. “True.” His hand grasps mine and squeezes. “I’m glad you’re here.” My heart lurches at my treason. I worry my lips. “I’ve missed this…” Not sure if he’s talking about our friendship or the atmosphere of the game. “It’s been a while.” Another squeeze before he releases his hold and answers his stepmom’s question that I somehow missed.
