Page 66 of Their Greatest Strength

The immediate recoil is far more attractive than I was anticipating, but it has nothing on the wink Jamie shoots my way on his way to his team. The finger he keeps pointed at me with every single step draws even more attention to us.

It’s another claiming. And for the first time since I agreed to this, I’m starting to really believe that we can pull this off.

And by the time Jamie and the team set up for another play in the second quarter, I’m still fairly confident in that statement. He’s gotten three touchdowns so far, and while I was expecting some sort of big production when he scored, he’s kept his reactions pretty plain. Nate, along with the entire stadium, was weirdly silent when he celebrated his latest touchdown with a simple hip-swinging dance.

To me, it looked fine. But Nathan pointed out that I only felt that way because I’d never seen his usual celebration. Whatever that means.

“I wonder if something’s wrong with him,” Nate mumbles, eyeing whom I’ve learned is the quarterback when he sets up on the field.

Jamie finishes talking to another member of their team and then tucks his mouthguard in while taking his position. Bending forward, he claps his hands between his thighs and points at the player opposing him. When he turns his hand upside down and makes a walking motion with two of his fingers, it’s obvious to everyone that he’s goading him.

“He looks fine to me, Nate,” I muse.

“Maybe he’s feeling sore or something. He’s never so boring when he scores a TD.”

“Dancing is boring?”

Nate huffs. “It is compared to what he usually does.”

“Okay, and what does he usually do?”

“Shh, they’re about to start the play.”

I bite my tongue, letting it go. Nate’s completely zoned in to the action, waiting and waiting . . . before whooping loudly. The noise hits me, and I’m instantly on high alert, narrowing my eyes on the players separating on the field.

The quarterback is retreating with the ball in his hands, his head on a swivel as he searches for someone to pass to. Nate lurches forward a step when the football cuts through the air in a perfect spiral, aimed right for Jamie.

My fiancé is already moving. He cuts through a circle of players and spins, evading the same one who he was taunting and continuing to sprint alongside the ball.

I hold still, a wince building in preparation for seeing him get plowed down. The last thing I want is for him to get hurt, and that’s the thing with football. It’s always a possibility.

Free healthcare in Canada is the biggest benefit we’ve had with Nate’s love of the sport. The number of cuts and broken bones he’s had would have bankrupted us without it.

With my hand gripping my shoulder, I wait and watch. Then, the crowd is erupting at the same time I am. I jump when Jamie slips past the closest player and leaps off his feet to snatch the ball and tuck it close before speeding off down the field.

He’s incredibly fast. For someone his height and with his bulk, it doesn’t seem like he should be able to move that fast. But he’s left everyone in the dust.

Nate clutches my arm, silently watching Jamie get closer to the end zone by the second. The coach has moved closer to the lines along the edge of the field, his clipboard held as tight as Jamie’s holding the ball.

It all happens so fast.

One second, Jamie is still sprinting, and the next, he’s crossing into the end zone and smashing the ball on the turf. The fans scream while the cheerleaders dance and chant, their pompoms swooshing. Nate’s cheering into his domed hands, and the staff near us are clapping.

It’s chaos. Even without the score being close and this being a deciding touchdown, the celebration is incredible.

“He’s amazing!” Nate shouts, looking up at me with stars in his eyes. “I can’t believe we were here to see that!”

“Yeah, he’s pretty good.” I bump our shoulders and keep Jamie in my sights.

With a blown kiss to the crowd, he leaves the ball where it lies on the turf and starts back our way. Instead of doing the same dance as earlier in the game, he changes course completely and doesn’t come the entire distance to the sidelines.

Nathan’s excitement is potent in the space around us, and even without him telling me what Jamie’s doing, I piece it together myself.

Jamie stops in the centre of the field and stares at me. Despite the distance between us, his eyes are so bright, alive with adrenaline and a love for this sport. They hook mine, and I keep still, afraid that if I move, the moment will end.

Shouts from those behind and around us make my ears throb as Jamie stretches his arms in front of him and shoots an invisible arrow at me.

“Point at him, Lake,” Nathan whisper hisses.

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