Page 17 of The Wrong Play

I flipped him off and followed.

Fourth and seven.

Two minutes left.

Down by three.

This was what I lived for. High-pressure moments. Big-time plays.

The chance to be a fucking legend.

Parker called the play, and we broke the huddle, lining up at the snap. The defense was in man coverage, and I snorted. Rookie mistake.

Because no one. And I repeat—no one—could cover me one-on-one.

The ball snapped, and I wasgone.

I burned past my defender, my legs churning, my lungs on fire. The safety sprinted over to help, but he was too late. The ball was already flying, a perfect deep shot, aimed right at me.

This time…I wasn’t missing.

I jumped, snagging it right out of the air, my fingers wrapping around the leather like it was made for me. My feet hit the ground, and I was off.

The end zone was ten yards away.

Five.

I dove.

The moment I crossed the goal line, the stadium erupted.

Touchdown.

Game over.

We won.

I rolled onto my back, breathing hard. “You’re welcome, bitches,” I screamed as Parker sprinted up and yanked me to my feet.

“Way to make that look hard, drama queen,” he drawled, pounding a hand against my helmet.

I grinned. “Would’ve been cooler if I could have done that two plays ago, and you hadn’t tried getting me killed.”

“Details,” Parker smirked as we both soaked in the moment.

Matty, my otherbestiliciousbro, came running up, tackling me back to the ground in his excitement. The rest of the team mobbed us, slamming into me with congratulations, but all I could hear was the roar of the crowd, the fight song blaring, and the announcer yelling my name like it belonged to a hero.

Fucking hell, I loved football.

And Ilovedwinning.

I leaned back against my locker, tapping out a text while Parker ran a towel over his face. He was trying for a new land speed record to get out of here and through his post-game interviews so he could see his girl Casey.

“Party at Lucky Strike tonight?” I asked, my eyes suddenly bulging at the boobs that had just shown up on my phone.

“Ahh,” I screeched, wondering how a three-nippled woman had managed to get ahold of my phone number. “Someone get this thing off my phone.” I tossed it to Matty—obviously. Parker had a no boobs but Casey’s rule, and I was all for respecting that.

“What the hell?” Matty said, grimacing at the picture as he punched some buttons on my phone. “Is that?—”

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