Page 109 of Sneak Attack

“High school.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” I grinned. “The girls. The stands. The small little fandom. Don’t tell me you didn’t walk the halls of yours, feeling like a damn king on Monday mornings and Friday afternoons.”

“Hell yeah, I did.”

“Exactly. We were tough shit, top dogs, whatever you want to call it, but everyonelovedus, worshipped us. We were the best and we played for the high of the win and a stupid fake gold trophy every season, only dreaming we could someday be exactly where you are now, right?”

“Hell yeah.”

“And it was the most fun I’d ever had in my entire damn life. Right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then go out there and line up, remember that fun. Remember that feeling and remember how fuckingcalmyou were. The men across from you might be stronger, might be bigger than high school, but we’re living our dream, and it’sfun.”

“All right. All right. Yeah. I got you.”

He bounced on the balls of his feet, more excitement flowing from him than nerves.

“All right then. Let’s go have some damn fun!”

I shouted it and the rest of the guys in the hallway, heading toward the locker room, joined in. “Hell yeah, we are! We’re going to kick some ass today, boys!”

* * *

We weren’t kicking ass, but we were winning. Only by three though, and the game was far from over with only forty-five seconds left on the clock, with Atlanta having the ball. They were lining up for a third and long play. If Atlanta got the first down, they’d be in field goal position.

Two more plays decided the fate of the game and while we’d rocked our offense, our defense had struggled against one of their tight ends known for his strength in running. But with twelve yards for them to go due to a sack on the last play and a loss of yards, it was doubtful he’d be the target.

Still, our sideline was tense as our defense took their positions. Atlanta had just called a timeout, so the clock was stopped until the snap and I felt the energy buzzing along the sidelines with every passing breath. The stands were wild, a thunderous rumble ofdefensechanted over and over.

The ball was snapped and Atlanta’s QB, Allen, grabbed the ball. He turned to pass, looked up for a receiver, but our cornerbacks had them both covered. He spun, tried to find the shorter throw to the tight end, but as soon as he did, Cortland Knox dug through an opening in the offensive tackles.

“Look at that fucker go!” Davis shouted. His hand gripped the sleeve of my jersey.

God, that kid’s energy wasinfectious.

Knox found Allen and tackled him, and oh… ”The ball! The ball!” I was shouting, jumping along with Hall. The ball had popped out, and Knox snagged it. But the man didn’t fall on it like he was supposed to. On the bounce, he scooped it up and started running.

Holy crap. For a dude as large as he was, he wasfast,and the guy took off, ran five yards while our entire sideline screamed, “Kneel it! Kneel it!” We didn’t need the big man rushing down the field. We were ahead in the game.

Knox covered the ball and started to take a knee right as the offensive tackles reached him. One landed on him. The other shoved his shoulder.

“Hell, yes! That’s how you do it!” I shouted for Knox, our entire offense standing and cheering along with the defense.

The entire play lasted seven seconds, and I was strapping my chin straps to my helmet and running back out to the field.

Twenty-eight seconds to go, thirty-five seconds on the play clock. Game over.

We went out for the necessary snap, and I kneeled the ball. As I stood, my gaze drifted through the stands.

“See?” I held the ball in the air for Davis and gestured to the stands. “Just like high school.”

“Better than!” He slapped the back of my helmet and trotted off the field.

He was right. He’d had another incredible game, only dropping one pass and coming up with some I was pretty sure only made by the grace of God. He’d been double-covered all day, but that hadn’t stopped him, and it hadn’t stopped me from trying to get it to him. He might be a rookie, but for a deep receiver, he was still the guy I trusted the most.

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