Page 36 of No Place Like Home

I was about to shrug it off when I noticed the look Jake gave Prescott. Interesting. I turned to look at him discreetly. He was wearing a suit on a football Sunday. He was one of those guys that reeked money. He was rich, all the Dunnetts were, but Prescott looked expensive from head to toe. His black hair was unnaturally dark and glossy, his beard perfectly groomed. There was a faraway look in those brown eyes of his.

Hmmm. I’d kind of always thought he had no worries.

When you had it all, what could you possibly want?

Everyone hushed when the program came on, and usually, I tried not to cry from boredom, but today I was excited to see Q play.

The game had yet to start when the camera focused on Quincy. My heart skipped a beat, and I looked around, wondering if it had been evident to everyone else. When I was sure no one was paying attention to me, I watched how Q moved his lips as he talked to his team. He had nice lips for a guy.

I shook my head to rid myself of these ridiculous thoughts.

Since I would be here for a while, I got comfy. I hugged my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. My eyes stayed glued to Quincy, standing behind the yard line. Fascinated, I watched as he raised his arm, and boom, the ball flew. My heart was beating, thumping as the ball soared and then as someone else ran for it. I didn’t watch football, so I didn’t know the names. I think Dex called the guy Tony. I watched as Tony caught the ball and then…touchdown.

Okay, this wasn’t so bad.

Everyone except for Prescott and me started to cheer.

“Damn. Name a better duo than Q and Larsen. Those two together are magic,” Jake raved from the loveseat across from me, with an arm around Juliet and another one holding his drink.

“Pratt and Miller,” Freya replied, talking about herself and Emma.

“Hendrix,” Dex amended.

Freya looked at Emma, who was sitting on the floor with her kids. “I told you to keep your maiden name.”

“You didn’t keep yours,” Emma defended herself.

“I hyphenated.”

“Shhhh,” I waved a hand at them so they could shut it when the game started again.

Everyone stared at me like I’d grown two heads. I ignored them; this football thing wasn’t so bad.

The players looked at Q, who gave them a signal. I was transfixed by the way he commanded attention. The way his team looked to him for guidance, how the fans cheered his name, and the way he seemed so comfortable with it all.

I’m still me. Still Quincy.

He might have said that, but it was the furthest thing from the truth.

Q jumped in the air, and he looked magnificent. He got the ball and ran, the camera keeping up with ease. Then out of nowhere, someone came from the side and rammed into him.

I gasped. “He got tackled.”

“Sacked.”

“What?” I turned to look at Dex.

“He’s the quarterback. The term is ‘sacked.’”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Did you or did you not know what I meant?”

“I’m just telling you what it’s called.”

“Same shit.” I waved him off because another play was starting.

I was practically on my knees, trying to inch closer to the television. Dex and Jake had their hands resting on their knees. Even Prescott changed positions. All our eyes were on Q.

Quincy started to run once again, his arm beginning to stretch, ready to throw the ball, and as soon as the ball left his hand, he got “sacked.”

---