Page 3 of Defending her Heart

She gives me a shy smile and leaves with her grandparents. There’s hope for her yet.

CHAPTER TWO

NASH

“Dude. Why you lookin’ so constipated during warmups?”

Declan Anderson is a phenomenal quarterback, but as the youngest active player on the team, he’s damn immature. Granted, when I was twenty-four, I was just as young and stupid.

“One of these days, Coach is going to let me take your ass down, and you’ll regret making fun of us old guys.” At thirty-two, I’m not old, but in football years, it feels like it. I’m going on my tenth season with only one Superbowl win under my belt. Granted, hundreds of guys play longer than I have and have never made a trip to the Bowl, so I’m lucky.

“Only if some other team wants your geriatric ass. Otherwise, not gonna happen, Hump.” Dec throws a spiral sixty yards down the field to Miles Buckingham, who runs it into the end zone and spikes it like he made a game-winning touchdown.

Dec and Buck are the comedians on the team. Why I hang around them, I haven’t a clue. I’m the least funny of all the guys on the team. Must be the opposites attract shit. As a defensive end, the only time I see these clowns is in team meetings and the locker room before a game. Film and lift sessions are separated by position, or offense and defense.

Even Walker Bankes, our superstar running back, has loosened up since being traded to the Revolutions last year. I’m sure it has everything to do with Riley. Since they married this past winter, he’s been all sunshine and roses and shit.

“How many sacks you aiming for tonight?” Bankes pounds me on the back.

It’s no secret I’m inching toward a record-breaking one-fifty. It wasn’t a goal I had set out with, but the team and media are all over it this season. No pressure.

“As long as we can keep Tampa Bay out of the endzone, I’ll be happy.”

“Modest fucker.”

Ignoring him, I spread my legs and work my quads and hamstrings. After a few rounds of leg stretches, Bankes glances into the stands with a stupid-ass grin on his face. “Riley and the gang are here.”

Like a pussy-whipped motherfucker, he jogs off to his bride and jumps to the railing to give her a kiss.

“Get a room, you two,” Kendall hollers loud enough for the entire stadium to hear, even over the Beastie Boys blaring from the sound system.

How those two are friends, I’ll never understand. While Riley is chill and humble, her best friend is a sex hungry party girl. Proving my point, she sticks her fingers in her mouth and whistles to Buck.

“Looking good out there, Bucky.” She wears his eighty-six jersey with pride like she’s one of his ballers. She probably is. The two of them couldn’t keep their hands off each other at Walker and Riley’s wedding this past winter.

It wasn’t like they were sucking face on the dance floor, but they were dirty dancing and grinding on each other like they weren’t wearing any clothes. Knowing Buck’s reputation, I’m sure the two of them fucked like rabbits in a coat closet. Or hell, behind a tree somewhere.

“My number looks good on you, Kenny.”

She sticks out her chest and shimmies. Next to her, Rowan shakes her head in embarrassment. She’s the normal friend. A pretty nurse who is sweet like Riley.

Walker and Riley invited me to their house plenty of times this summer, but more often than not, I declined. I’m not into the social scene like I used to be.

No big ragers. Not anymore. That was my old life. Not that I’d change what I have now, but sometimes I miss it.

When Walker is done sucking face with his wife, he comes back and finishes his stretches with me. “You coming out to the Whiskey Buckle tonight?”

The bar scene isn’t my favorite, but it’s where the team likes to hang out after a game. Especially a win. It’s low-key as far as the nightlife scene goes. More like a country bar and just far enough outside the city where we don’t get too much of the post-game crowd.

“Maybe.”

“How about this?” Dec comes over and drapes an arm over my shoulder. “You sack the QB, you don’t have to come out. No sacks, you come out and do shots.”

“That’s a stupid ass bet,” Buck says, joining our small circle. “We want Hump to party with us.”

“Aw. You’re so sweet to believe in me.” I tap the side of his helmet.

There’s no reason why I shouldn’t get a sack in. Two of Tampa’s strongest O-linemen are injured, leaving the QB vulnerable.

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