Page 10 of Flag On The Play
Usually, I live for this. The precision. The adrenaline. The thrill of control.
But today?
Nova’s still in my goddamn head.
The way she looked at me last night like she wanted to set me on fire and smile while I burned. The way she flipped me off like she was doing me a favor. And fuck, the way she looked walking away, hips swaying with that signature bite-me confidence.
I shake it off. Line up again. Focus.
Another snap.
Another perfect throw.
And yet, no matter how well I play, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still chasing something.
Somethingoffthe field.
Something wearing red lipstick and heels, with a stare that could kill.
Unfortunately, practice doesn’t stop because your mind is elsewhere. But it wasn’t long before Coach called it a day, and we headed off to the locker room.
The smell of sweat, turf, and victory clings to the air like it always does after a solid practice. Pads hit the floor, music thumps low in the background, and the guys are talking shit like we didn’t just run drills for three hours in the heat.
I pull my shirt over my head, towel around my neck, when Jace kicks open his locker and grins. “We’re going out tonight. No excuses.”
Theo snorts. “You’re always trying to get us out.”
“Yeah, and you love it every damn time.” Jace points at me. “Reed, what about you? You in?”
I barely hesitate.
“Let’s go to Heaven.”
Jace’s brow lifts, and Theo stops halfway through tying his sneakers.
“Heaven?” Jace repeats. “As in Heaven’s Edge? The club?”
“Yeah.” I keep my tone casual, like it doesn’t matter, like it’s just another club. “Why not?”
Theo side-eyes me. “Last time, you were ready to fight someone after seeing her. Now you’re trying to go back?”
I shrug and toss my towel into the bin. “She’s not that big of a deal.”
They both stare at me like I just told them I’m giving up football to open a flower shop.
“I just feel like blowing off steam,” I say with a smirk. “What better place?”
Theo shrugs but doesn’t argue. “Fine. But if you get all weird and broody again, I’m leaving you at the bar.”
“Deal.”
The moment we step inside, we’re hit with the heavy pulse of bass and the warm glow of the stage lights. The place is already packed, bodies pressed close, heads tilted toward the spotlight.
Candy’s on stage.
Her routine is polished and sexy. She owns every move, confident and smooth, dressed in glitter and heat. The crowd is eating it up, money raining down, guys leaning forward like she’s dancing just for them.
But she’s not who I’m here for.
