Page 42 of Love on the Waiver Wire

That’s punishment enough.

You’re a smooth talker, Crosby.

I try sometimes.

You succeed.

Alright, I’ll tell you. Just keep showering me with compliments, alright?

I smile, typing it out. Now I just have to pray I win.

18

ISLA

The Cobras are away this week. Their first away game, a primetime spot on Monday Night Football, and they’re sucking.

I mean really sucking. Horribly… sucking.

Leo can’t keep the damn ball in his hands, and he threw a pick-six in the first quarter. Owen dropped a couple of passes, and the others haven’t been much help either.

Thankfully Owen is the only one from the Cobras I have, but no one on my team has done well this week. Not a single one.

My defense, one of the best in the league, ended with negative two points.

I groan, rubbing my eyes as I spread out on my couch, watching the horror go down on the TV.

I’m so screwed. So royally fucked, even.

I’ve been complacent. It’s only been two weeks and I was sure that I was the best in the league. A definite winner. I would skyrocket to the top, taking everything from these idiots.

But that’s not the case. There are bad weeks, even at the start, and this is one of them.

I’m going to have two punishments to do.

I don’t even know how that’s going to work. How am I going to send proof of me doing whatever I have to do to the group?

I wasn’t even told what the punishment is. Leo has a group chat with all the guys, but he has a dummy number in there for Ian. I have no idea what he’s been doing if one of the guys texts me, though I’m not sure why they would.

He doesn’t want me accidentally getting lose lips and letting them know who I am.

But he also doesn’t tell me anything.

So now I’m going into the end of the week, probably losing, and having two punishments under my belt. The one I can deal with. Sure, it’ll hurt like a bitch, but if I don’t even know what the other is, I can’t prepare for it.

It feels like a special kind of torture.

I know he’s playing and won’t see it for another hour or so, but I shoot a text to my brother.

Text me when you can

Laying back on my couch, I watch as Owen gets another target, barely keeping it between his butter fingers before he gets tackled from the side, the ball falling from his grip where someone on the other team’s defense scoops it up. He’s immediately tackled, but the ball is officially the other team’s.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them play this badly.

The Cobras defense finally does something, and a second later flags fly, a holding call being announced.

I’m so ready for this game to be over.

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