Page 43 of Rich and Bossy

He grabs my hand and yanks. “Come on!” He’s laughing like a kid the whole time he does it.

My feet can’t do anything but follow him onto the field, then I stop. For a minute, all I can do is stare, openmouthed, turning in a slow circle and trying to soak it all in. I’m never going to get a chance like this again.

“What do you think?” He cannot stop grinning.

“I think...” No, I’m tired of thinking. I want to act. What else do you do when you’re on a professional football field, with perfect turf? The Vikes logo right in the center?

“This!” I take off running before I can talk myself out of it.

Paxton’s laughter grows fainter as I sprint out toward the fifty-yard line from the end zone.

“Strous breaks away!”

I look over my shoulder and see he’s cupped his hands around his mouth.

That’s when I do a U-turn and head back toward him in the end zone.

He keeps up the commentary. “She’s at the thirty... the twenty... the ten... Touchdown!”

I pretend to spike a ball I’m not really holding, then do my best version of our best player’s signature victory dance, the bow and arrow.

He’s dying laughing at my impersonation. My Dad would die if he knew what I was doing right now.

Some of the workers in the stands look over and laugh at me.

Oh my God, is this really happening?

Paxton steps out onto the one-yard line. There’s something strange about watching him step onto the playing field, out of the end zone.

There’s a slight hesitation there.

“Line the fuck up, Strous, and don’t run a sloppy-ass route on me.” His voice booms at me.

Oh my God, was that how he talked to his players on the field? Because I’d follow him to battle any damn day of the week if he keeps that up.

You’d follow him to the bedroom and bend over on command too.

My cheeks grow pink just thinking about it.

“Five-yard slant, you got it?”

I nod and line up, waiting for him.

“Red forty-two, red forty-two, hut, hut.” He drops back.

I take off running five yards then slant across the middle. He pretends to throw the ball, and I catch it in stride and take off with it.

“Strous is off and running! She’s got an opening!”

I pretend to get taken out and roll onto the ground at the last second.

I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. I hop up and start jogging back, pretending to carry the ball.

“Oh, you trying to score on me?” He takes off right at me.

Oh. My. God.

I squeal and try to go around him.

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