Page 100 of The Wrong Quarterback

Me: Tell him I miss him too.

“Who’shim?” Nat asked, reading my text over my shoulder. She paused for a moment. “Oh, that’s a dick joke, isn’t it?”

I winked at her, trying to be cool while I blushed. “Maybe,” I finally said.

“I need to get dicked,” she humphed as I put my phone away. “I’m going through a dry spell.”

“Didn’t you hook up with that hot lacrosse player two nights ago?”

She pressed her palm against my mouth. “Don’t call another guy hot. Parker will somehow hear you. And I like that guy. I don’t want him to disappear.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Parker’s not going to make anyone disappear.”

Nat smirked. “You think that. But it’s always the hot ones that are crazy.”

I laughed, because that was probably true.

Nothing seemed too crazy about Parker yet, though, besides the fact that he was crazyperfect.

He’d been so sweet about my dorm, helping me unpack what I’d been able to salvage—in his room and then going out to buy ice cream to celebrate the fact that I was there with him.

“Ugh, you guys are too fucking cute,” Nat growled, but there was a twinkle in her eye that said she didn’t mind.

“He’stoo fucking cute,” I murmured, sitting back with a sigh.

And I couldn’t wait to see him again.

The concrete floor of the stands were shaking, the kind that rattled your bones as you stood there. Every seat was packed, a sea of orange and crimson. I clutched the edge of my seat, my fingers tight around the armrest, barely breathing as I watched Parker line up again. Alabama had sacked him twice already, each hit harder than the last. I could still feel the thud of my heart in my throat from the last time he went down…and took forever to get up. Somehow he’d kept pushing, though, dragging the team down the field inch by inch until they were close enough for the kicker to line it up.

“He’d better not fucking miss this,” Nat’s voice cut through the noise beside me. She was on the edge of her seat too, biting her lip, her leg bouncing like she was trying to shake the nerves off.

I swallowed, eyes glued to the field.

The kicker jogged out, positioning himself as he readied for the kick. Alabama fans were going insane, the sound of the crowd becoming earsplitting. I hoped Parker liked hearingaids in his women, because I might be needing them after this season.

Nat and I were nothing but a massive inhale of anticipation as we watched, waiting. The snap was perfect. The holder set the ball down in one smooth motion, and the kicker’s foot connected with a sharp, clean thud. And the ball soared. My breath locked up, frozen as I tracked its arc. The ball sliced through the air, barely clearing the line of defenders reaching up to block it, and I held onto that breath, waiting, hoping as it flew…

Right through the uprights.

The Tennessee fans exploded, and Nat screamed right in my ear, throwing her arms around me. I gave up on trying to save my hearing and joined in, shouting as loud as I could, both of us gripping each other in a wild, jumping hug.

I searched the huddle of celebrating players for Parker. Even from here I could see his gorgeous smile as he slapped the kicker on the back.

“You know what I don’t understand,” Nat mused suddenly. I raised an eyebrow at her, keeping half my attention on Parker…because how could I not.

“Why does the kicker wear a pad and helmet in the first place?”

“Huh?”

“I mean all he does is kick a ball. It’s literally a penalty for the other team to touch him.”

“Well—” I began, but she was making some good points.

“He should just wear some kind of beautiful costume or something that shows the team’s personality. Don’t you think?” she asked.

I thought about what she’d said…and then burst into laughter at the thought of the Tennessee kicker wearing some kind of ice dancer costume in the middle of the field.

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