Page 39 of Flag On The Play
I park across the street from her building, kill the engine, and sit in silence for a minute.
This is either going to go incredibly well or crash and burn so hard it’ll leave shrapnel in my chest.
But I’ve played enough games to know when to take the shot. And I’m not walking away from this one.
The building door clicks open before I even buzz in. An older woman shuffling out with grocery bags. I hold the door, nod politely, and head up the two flights to her apartment. My pulse is loud in my ears. Not nerves. Just anticipation.
I knock twice and wait.
She opens the door wearing a pair of black shorts and an oversized tee that has the tiny bleach stain on the hem.
Her eyes narrow instantly. “Seriously?”
“That’s a hell of a greeting.”
“You show up at my apartment uninvited after we slept together like it didn’t mean anything, and you expect a parade?”
“I didn’t say it didn’t mean anything,” I fire back.
“You didn’t say anything, Finlay.” She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning a hip against the frame. “Not when I left. Not since. So, unless this is a booty call, which I can assure you will be one-sided, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here.”
God, she’s infuriating. And beautiful. And completely wrong.
“I had the best game of my career today.”
“Congratulations. I’m sure ESPN is thrilled.”
“You wanna know why?”
“Nope. Not really.”
“It’s you, Nova.”
She blinks. Stares at me like I’ve grown three heads. “Excuse me?”
“You were the difference. You. Us. Letting go of whatever’s been pent up between us all these years? I felt clear. Focused.”
She scoffs. “Okay, well, I’m glad sex with me cured all your issues. That’s definitely not emotionally complex or pressure-inducing at all.”
“Jesus, it’s not about just sex.”
“Right. You’re telling me one night with the girl you used to bully in high school fixed your career. Got it. I’ll start writing inspirational TED Talks about my magical vagina.”
“Nova.”
“No, really. Maybe we should bottle it. Sell it. Quarterback Gold. One Night to a Championship Season.”
“You done?” I ask, stepping closer.
She glares, lips twitching in that way they do when she’s about to either slap me or laugh. “I haven’t decided.”
I reach out and gently push the door wider. “Can I come in?”
She hesitates, torn. I see the war behind her eyes. Her gut wants to tell me to screw off. Her mouth is about to do it. But then, she steps back. Just an inch.
I take it as the invitation it is.
Inside, her place smells like vanilla and something slightly citrusy. It’s her. Messy in the corners, warm lighting, and a blanket tossed over the back of the couch like it’s always ready for a movie night.
