Page 12 of Tangled Up In You
The two-minute warning was given, signaling that we needed to get our ass in gear and soon, otherwise this game would be going into overtime.
I passed to Wilson, and he ran the ball for thirteen yards.
Denver called a timeout.
Once the next play started, my pass was incomplete, but a penalty was put on one of Denver’s lineman for defensive offside. A five yard penalty was enforced. In the next few plays, we gained some yards before being stopped.
The clock was running out, and the tension on the field was so dense it could be cut with a knife.
With only a minute and a half left in the game, our side called a timeout. It was frequent for both teams to call timeouts right at the end of a game, especially when it was so close. We gathered on the sidelines and coach grilled us before we went back on the field.
There was only a minute left, but with the quick start and stop of the plays, it drew on for what seemed like forever. Anthony, our fullback, ran up the middle and gained another four yards.
With seconds left on the clock, Harrison kicked a thirty yard field goal, putting the score at twenty-seven to twenty-four and winning us the game.
Cheers erupted through the stadium, and excitement spread through our team. Backs were slapped, chests were bumped, and not even the below freezing temperatures could bring us down. After the final whistle was blown, some of the players from both teams gathered on the field—some for a postgame prayer and others were still in celebration mode.
“Corbin Taylor!” a reporter exclaimed, pulling me in for an on-field interview. She was probably a little older than me with long blond hair and bundled up in a thick black coat, earmuffs, and matching gloves. “This was the last game of the season. What do you plan on doing now? How do you plan to celebrate your team’s victory?”
As the quarterback, I gained the most attention. And I wasn’t going to lie, I enjoyed being in the spotlight.
“I’m damn proud of my team,” I answered her, being sure to keep a charming smile on my face the entire time. A photographer was beside her, snapping pic after pic, and I wanted to play it up for the cameras. “First thing I’m gonna do is get out of this uniform.”
She laughed and flicked her hair in the way most girls did when flirting. “Well, I think many of us would love that after seeing your spread forUnder Armour.”
In the past year or so, I’d done a commercial forPepsi, been in a few magazines modelingUnder Armourunderwear, and I’d even been voted Sexiest Man in Football. Not that my looks had anything to do with my skills on the field, but it didn’t hurt to be admired in that way. Certainly helped me get laid more times than I could count.
I didn’t comment on her flirtatious statement and instead just smiled.
“There’s a rumor that next season might be your last one with the Raptors,” she said. “Can you comment on the validity of these rumors?”
She held the recorder out to me and waited.
Playing pro-football had been my dream ever since I was eleven. After three years of living that dream, certain things had begun taking a toll on me: injuries being one of them, but also the stress of staying in peak physical condition. With new players being drafted every year, the pressure of staying on top was intense. No matter how excellent a player was, he could be replaced in the blink of an eye.
But even with the physical aspect of it aside, it’d impacted my emotional state as well. I was mentally exhausted.
The rumors had started because my four year contract with the Raptors would end next season, and there’d been no reassurance that it’d be renewed yet. If the contract wasn’t renewed, I’d be a free agent and any other team could pick me up if they wanted. But nothing was guaranteed.
“Rumors are rumors,” I answered, not ready to publically announce anything until I was certain. “Who knows what the future holds? Now if you’ll excuse me.”
I walked away from her and headed toward the locker room. Most of my team had already left the field. As the adrenaline from the game started wearing off, fatigue and soreness began creeping in. It was as if all the pain signals to my brain had been blocked during the game and were now sending messages all throughout my body.
My entire body hurt and I knew I’d have massive bruising from all the full-body collisions. Pads only helped so much.
“Taylor!” Brian, one of the linemen, said as I entered the locker room. “We’re goin’ out tonight. You joining us?”
“Nah, man. I think I’m just gonna go to the hotel and crash,” I answered as I got to my locker. After a game, I was always eager to strip out of my jersey. It was far from glamorous and sexy. The damn thing was dirty and soaked in sweat. “Fuck, I swear this thing shrinks two sizes every time I try to take it off.”
Austin, the tight end, came up and slapped my ass. “Need help?”
I grinned and was about to spout off a sarcastic remark, but I caved when I tried again to pull it off and failed. “Please.”
There was an enthusiastic atmosphere in the room as other players talked about their plans for the night. Some helped others out of their uniforms, which was a great indicator of how well we did in the game.
When we lost, most of us acted like we hated each other, but if we won, the camaraderie was strong.
Austin stood in front of me and helped me peel off my jersey and shoulder pads. He was the player I was closest to on the team, and we’d been called out several times for our obvious bromance. The dude was straight, though, and had a gorgeous girlfriend who was also a total sweetheart. He knew I was gay, but I hadn’t come out to the world yet.
