I picked up a piece of bacon that had fallen out of my omelet and flicked it at him before he could continue, loving the roar of a laugh that came from him when I did.
“I’ve got to run,” he said, looking at the time on his phone before he tucked it away. “I’m meeting Holden for some drills.”
“It’s Sunday. Your day off,” I reminded him. “You just played a game yesterday.”
He shrugged. “When you want to be the best, there are no days off.” Then, he paused. “Are you… okay this morning?”
I flushed, looking down at my plate. “A little sore, but… yes.”
“Good.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but never did. Instead, he swiped his hoodie off the back of the barstool where he’d left it the night before.
Then, he leaned in and swiftly kissed my cheek.
“Thanks for breakfast, Kitten,” he said.
He was gone in the next moment.
And suddenly, my apartment felt a lot more empty.
Clay
“Watch, watch!” I yelled to Dane at our next game, pointing to where a wide receiver had just jogged from in front of me, down the line, to land in front of him, instead. He nodded affirmatively, and I bent low, fingers wiggling at my sides as I glared at the player across from me through the metal of my helmet.
There were only twenty seconds left on the clock, and we were beating the Philadelphia Lions by three points. But if they got close enough to kick a field goal, we’d be going into overtime.
I was not going into overtime.
Especially not on my birthday.
“Shut it down, boys!” someone screamed from the sidelines. It sounded a lot like Zeke, and I sank even lower in my crouch, determination prickling my skin.
The ball was snapped, and the quarterback fell into the pocket with his eyes scanning. They needed at least fifteen more yards to be in a good field goal position, and it was third down — so I knew he would launch it.
His eyes flicked to the receiver who had gone down by Dane, but Dane was on him like white on rice. So the QB kept searching, and when our defensive line started to break through, he panicked, launching the ball down the middle of the field.
I kicked against the turf as hard as I could, juking the receiver I was covering to run toward the tight end who was wide open. Dane caught on a second after I did, but he was too late. Even after he started running, I knew he wouldn’t get there in time.
So I dug in deeper, harder, my thighs and calves screaming in protest as I gave it everything I had.
Then, out of nowhere, one of our defensive linemen hopped up from where he’d been pushed back into our zone, and he tipped the ball.
It wobbled, spinning off target, and without hesitation, I leapt into the air and snagged it before the offense could even realize what was happening.
The roar of the crowd assaulted me as I landed, spinning just in time to avoid a tackle, and sprinting the opposite way down the field. My lungs were on fire, ribs aching, but I kept on, glancing behind me to find the opposite team on my tail.
“Go! Go! Go!”
Riley’s distinct voice pierced through the noise, and I pushed harder, glancing up to see the clock was about to run out.
And it did.
Right as I crossed over into the end zone.
“TOUCHDOWN REBELS!” the announcer bellowed, and our home team went absolutely insane as I puffed my chest and threw the ball into the stands. I was bombarded by my teammates in the next breath, my helmet being smacked hard enough to concuss me as they hyped me up. Then, before we could get in trouble from the coach or the officials for too much celebrating, we all jogged toward the sideline, only to be encompassed by reporters.
It was madness, and I fielded through each question that was thrown at me until I couldn’t take anymore. It was my fucking birthday, and I didn’t want to spend all of it answering the same shit over and over, but I also didn’t want to be a pain in Giana’s ass. So, I politely answered and then politely excused myself and made my way into the locker room.
“Way to end the game, you showboating sonofabitch,” Holden said when I dipped inside. He grinned, smacking me with the end of his jersey before he threw it in the dirty laundry basket. “We still would have won if you would have just run out the clock.”
I crossed my feet and did a little spin, plucking my jersey off my shoulders. “Yeah, but that wouldn’t be as fun to watch on the highlight reels later, would it?”
Holden shook his head, but his smile was wide, hair matted to his forehead after a grueling game. It was at least starting to cool off finally, fall taking over the northeast like it always did this time of year.