Page 133 of Under the Lights

Just fury and focus. The left tackle met me, and I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.

The force with which I barreled into him knocked his breath out of his lungs in a hiss, and I shoved him aside like he weighed nothing.

I pushed on and just caught a glimpse of the quarterback’s eyes widening.

That’s right. I got you, motherfucker.

I was on him in a flash, one hand grabbing a fistful of his jersey, while the other drove into his chest like a goddamn wrecking ball.

The hit was vicious, loud enough to pop over the crowd noise. The ball flew loose — Hunter scooping it and taking off — but I wasn’t fucking done. That QB would be eating dirt.

I took him to the ground, using my momentum to roll over him and jump to my feet again. He stayed down while I hovered over the wreckage.

My chest was heaving, and I grinned through my mouthguard before mimicking digging with a shovel.

“Diggin’ graves today,” I roared, pounding my chest.

Then I lifted my eyes, looking across the field — right at Sierra.

She was on her feet, one hand over her mouth, and shaking her head like she didn’t know whether she should be horrified or cheering me on. Smirking, I formed another heart with my hands and pointed at her.

I’d bet anything, right now, that those panties weresoakedfor me. I knew my girl.

The stadium was still roaring, but I was already tuning it out. I ripped my helmet off as the clock ran out, sweat stinging in my eyes, and adrenaline still buzzing through me, a storm with nowhere left to strike.

Victory tasted like metal. Like blood. Like Sierra’s name, echoing in the back of my mind.

***

I pushed the locker room open with my shoulder, stepping out into the hallway. Damp strands of hair fell into my eyes, and I pushed them back with an annoyed huff.

Grabbing my cap out of the unzipped bag slung over my shoulder, I pushed my hair back before shoving the hat over it.

My legs were aching, but at least I didn’t smell anymore. The shower had calmed me down, at least on the surface.

The scent of clean soap was barely masking the leftover adrenaline in my bloodstream.

That calm was just my armor — something keeping me from detonating in the middle of the hallway. I was still on edge and would be for the rest of the night, based on previous experience.

Lifting my head, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Sierra was waiting for me.

Her back was propped against the wall just outside the locker room’s hallway, arms crossed, legs casually crossed at the ankle, watching me with an unreadable expression.

Her hair was pulled into a messy braid, and her razor-sharp eyes watched me with an unreadable expression. More laid-back than usual, but no less intense.

How long had she been standing there?

She didn’t say anything. Her body language remained unreadable except for that tiny tell — her nails were digging into her elbow, the way she did when she was trying not tofeelsomething.

I approached her with slow steps, gaze locked on her like gravity’s shifted in her direction. Like she was the axis I revolved around. The only sound was the electric hum of the lights above and the muffled voices coming from the locker room.

“You better be waiting for me, ” I said, one corner of my mouth tipping up into a lazy, crooked smile.

Sierra shrugged. “Well, I sure as hell wasn’t gonna fight the crowd to watch you shirtless on the field.”

I flashed her a full grin, my eyebrows popping up quizzically. “So you waited to see me shirtless here?”

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