Page 21 of Changing the Play

He raises up, his mouth dropping open for a second before he bursts into laughter. “I’ll have you know, I’m a fairly decent player.”

I can’t help but grin. “I’m getting pretty good at this football thing. Don’t be too cocky, or I may come for your job.”

West sputters a laugh. “You just want the tight pants.”

I’d much rather look at the guysinthe tight pants. “They would be a perk. I’ll be a pro in no time.”

He smiles. Light and carefree and easy all over again. “I’m not sure I can see you suiting up anytime soon.”

I place a hand over my heart, faking offense. “You’re just worried I’d look better in the tight pants than you.”

I’m not sure if joking about my sexuality is the right thing, but maybe if I just put it out there like that, I’ll be able to avoid the awkwardness of my maybe, possibly, very miniscule crush on him. He pauses, scanning my body like he’s actually thinking about it. His eyes settle on mine and he smirks. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

He just stares at me for a second, and there’s so much genuine affection and playfulness in his eyes that I have to look away. “If we’re good, I’d like to get back to this game. You might already know who wins, but I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“I somehow doubt that,” West says, laughing a bit.

He gets comfortable again, clicking play to pick up where we left off. He dives right into his running commentary, and I find myself focusing more on the sound of his voice and the excitement and reverence in his tone than the words themselves.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s the game or him I find so fascinating. I’m almost terrified to dig too deep into it.

Chapter 7

Weston

Ifeel like I’ve lived ten lives since Darcy showed up earlier. I can’t believe I embarrassed myself like that. Thankfully, he took my bumbling in stride, but it could have gone the opposite way. He could have told me to fuck off or assumed I was being mean.

He could have gotten up and left.

That thought sends a panicked little pang through my heart.

He’s setting things up across my coffee table, so I lean forward to see what he’s got going on. When he gets everything laid out, he turns his notebook toward me. He’s perched on the edge of my couch, bouncing a little like he’s excited. It’s endearing.

“Okay,” he says, tapping on the notebook.

Oh. It’s a football play. Or at least at surface level. He made history into football plays. Wow. That’s…

He clears his throat, drawing my attention to him. “So, I have an in with the professor, and he informed me that you’d be having a quiz on The Battle of Valmy in two days.” I gape at him, not sure what to make of… all this. He taps the paper and I force my eyes down. “So I made this.”

I nod, my eyes scanning the page again. He worked really hard on this.

“So here’s the scene. It’s September 20th, 1792. France is the underdog. They basically have a group of farmers and volunteers in their little army. They’re hyped up. One hundred percent ready to go, right? But the problem is that they’re up against the Prussians.”

I’m caught in his gaze as he transforms before my eyes. Not that he’s ever meek or lacking confidence, but right now, he’s exuding it. It’s seeping from his pores and shining from his very core. “Focus, West,” he admonishes, and I force my eyes back to the notebook. “The Prussians were formidable. Picture a middle school team playing against an NFL team. No competition, yeah?”

He points to a cluster of X’s on his drawn-out play. “So this is the French defense, essentially.”

I nod, following along well enough so far. “I’m assuming this is the Prussians, then?” I ask, pointing to the O’s.

“You’ve got it,” Darcy says, giving me a bright smile. “So the Prussians are coming in with everything they’ve got. Cavalry, cannons, and a super experienced team. The big dogs. But the French had something they weren’t expecting.”

I smile. “A good quarterback?”

Darcy laughs. I love that I can make him laugh. “Close, but no. They had heart and fight. Something the Prussians weren’t expecting. They set up their cannons here.” He pauses, pointing to the top of the diagram with his pen. “So they had the high ground. Field advantageor something. Still trying to figure out the best way to compare it. So the Prussians came in expecting an easy win, but the French dug in their heels and held their ground.”

Things click in my brain. “So, like a goal-line stand.”

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