Page 2 of Tumbling the Cornerback

The name took a second to click. And when it did, my heart did a funny little skip-flip-flop maneuver that made me wonder if I needed more salt in my diet. Because surely it had to be some electrolyte issue and not how I thought Cooper Howard was fucking adorable in that giant overgrown puppy sort of way.

Well. Maybe not a puppy. More like... giant sexy man with the prettiest eyes and a smile making this dimple in his cheek pop and hands that... Well. Yeah.

Definitely a salt issue. I sure was fucking thirsty.

I forced a smile. “Awesome. Awesome, awesome, awesome...”

“Mmmhmm.” She raised one finely penciled grandma brow at me. “I’m sure.” The walkie talkie on her hip buzzed, and she sighed. “We’ve got the new intern with us today. Lydia? Linda? The comms major from UT. She’s even less into football than you are, so this has been... a treat. A real treat.”

I smiled again, a tiny and almost real one. “This is gonna be great. I’ll behave, the kids are gonna have a blast, and we’ll be out of here by dark-thirty so the property management doesn’t flip out about us running over time.”

Spoiler alert: I was wrong. Like... super fucking uber wrong.

And it wasn’t my fault! I behaved!

The first problem struck around eleven a.m. The initial wave of kids and their adults spilled into the tents set up with sports-related games and activities, including a huge pavilion where the players ran kid-ified versions of drills with prizes at the end. The kids were beyond pumped, shouting encouragement at each other, showing off for the players and each other. Even the ones who lost were excited to have played.

The problem was... the parents.

Two of the dads circled each other for a hot minute, glaring when the other’s kid succeeded in one of the drills, gloating when theirs won. A couple volunteers subtly interjected themselves between the dads while their kiddos were playing one of the relay courses. When nothing happened after several minutes, I breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Tori, Liz, and Marisol to finish preparing our first demo of the day. The entire squad couldn’t be there—we all had day jobs, after all, and not everyone could take a Saturday off.

We’d just finished our safety check when all hell broke loose.

“I said fuck off!”

“Sir.” One of the volunteers bumbled like a bee around the two silverbacks—er, dads—squaring up in front of the Agility Skills tent. “Sir, there’s children here! Why don’t y’all go into the cooldown tent and?—”

“And nothin’,” the other dad shouted. “You need to get the fuck outta my face!”

Tori made a sad, scared, squeaky noise beside me. Liz patting my arm, we all stared, frozen. “I’ll call security,” she whispered.

“Yeah, good idea.”

More parents came over to see what the shouting was about, and quite a few of the older kids and not a few volunteers. Cass and one of the QS reps made a beeline from the PR tent, but I saw what was about to happen. Wyatt and Ryeland were moving in from the autograph tent, but I was closer. Sure, the guys were easily almost a foot taller than me (okay, maybe not that much but still!) and way bigger, but I had the power of scrappiness and a loud voice on my side.

I bolted for the shouting pair. “Hey!”Marisol wailed my name as I ran but I didn’t look back. “Hey, you two! Cut it out!”

“Oh, fuck off,” one of the dads growled—the one I mentally called Walrus due to his High School Coach Special on his upper lip. He didn’t look away from Questionable Footwear—seriously, wearing flipflops on hot asphalt in midsummer in Texas? That is not a good plan.

Skidding to a halt next to them, I shoved myself in between their posturing. “Either shut up or get out! This is a fun event for kids, not for two adults, two parents, to try and have a—” I paused, glanced at the wide eyes staring back at us— “a you know what measuring contest!”

“No, what?”

That had to be one of the teens.

“This asshole needs to get out of my face! My kid’s just fine and doesn’t need his help!” Walrus shouted.

“I just suggested they try out for baseball,” Questionable Football retorted. “It’s not the end of the world!”

“Fuck you! My kid’s a future wide receiver!”

“But I don’t even like football!”

I whipped my head around to face a distraught kid with wide, wet eyes and a face gone an unhealthy shade of red. “Hey, my name’s Lucas.”

“Benny,” they muttered, ducking their head.

“Benny, you want to go grab a cold drink with Tori?” I pointed to my squadmate, jogging up. “We’ve got the stash of the good stuff over in the cheer tent,” I added with a cheesy wink. “Fruit punch with no nutritional value whatsoever.” It had the hoped-for effect—Benny, Liz, and a few of the other kids trailed towards the cheer tent while I turned back towards the problem people. “Seriously?” I hissed. “Seriously?”

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