Page 87 of Most Likely to Score
He sets down his beer and wraps his arm around me, foam finger and all. “Why do you feel stupid, honey?”
Because I’m going to cry.
Because I want more than two texts.
Because I want to know if Jones has done the same thing I did. “I put my heart on the line, my job on the line, and I’ve barely heard from him,” I say, my voice breaking. Behind us, a woman waves pom-poms and cheers. “All he said yesterday was ‘I’m thinking of you.’”
“Give him time.”
I nod, biting my lip. “It’s just hard.”
He squeezes my shoulder and drops a kiss to thetop of my head. “It’s hard when you love somebody. But sometimes, a man has to figure things out in his own time. Man-time does not equal woman-time.”
A small laugh escapes me. “Truer words . . .”
“I wish it did, for your sake, but it doesn’t. You’re a quick thinker and a problem solver. You act. You know your heart and your mind. Some men do, but some men take longer to figure it out. Especially when a man falls for a woman for the first time. It’s like trying to start a car with a leaf. The engine sputters, and warning lights flicker all over the dashboard.”
I laugh loudly at his insane analogy. “Who has ever tried to start a car with a leaf?”
“I hope no one, because I don’t think it would work. Maybe it’s like trying to assemble a desk with a spoon.”
“I love your metaphors. They’re wonderfully awful.”
“I aim to please.” Patting my knee, he adds, “And don’t lose sight of the fact that you did what you needed to do for you. You did the right thing even without the reward in your pocket. Sometimes, we have to take a chance, even if the odds are we’re going to fall.”
I want a soft landing, though. But I haven’t been getting one this weekend, and I suppose I’ll have to be okay with it. “You’re right. It’s only been a few days. I’ll wait patiently.”
“Have faith. Now, let’s watch the game. We don’t want to miss a big play, do we?”
“No way.”
My attention returns to the game as the defense forces a punt. I’ll need to head to the press suite shortly,but I stay with my dad for one more play as the Renegades take possession. When there are eight minutes left in the half, Jones makes a spectacular catch. As his hands cradle the ball, my heart flies up my chest. Once he lands safely out of bounds, I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting.
Waiting for my special signal.
He raises his arms. I cross my fingers.
Cooper rushes to him and they smack palms, then race into the next play.
There is noJ, and I don’t have a clue if he even intended to make one before the quarterback high-fived him.
36
JONES
The lead slips through our fingers as the Indianapolis offense attacks with ferocity in the second half.
Their quarterback marches downfield, earning first down after first down, launching beautiful passes that turn into even more beautiful catches. They pull in front by six.
With crossed arms, I stare at the action on the field, searching for a way for us to regain the lead. Cooper is by my side, and Coach Greenhaven reviews the upcoming play—his plan of attack for when we get the ball again.
Once we do, we trot out to the field, ready, absolutely ready. As the noise in the stadium rises to deafening levels, Cooper drops back in the pocket and I cut across the field in a new route the Indy defense hasn’t seen from us before. Cooper’s arm is a gun, and he takes aim.
My eyes zero in on the ball. All I know is the hunt. Hunt that ball, haul it in, and take it to the end zone.Scan left and right, watch for predators. Dodge this way, dart that way, the target in my crosshairs.
As the ball soars through the air, I race for it. It’s ten feet away, five feet away. It’s in my hands.
A surge of energy lights up my chest, powering me like an electric grid. It barrels through my legs, and I race, blinders on, the end zone in sight, my guys blocking for me. At the five-yard line, a touchdown seems a foregone conclusion, but a safety catches up from out of nowhere, slamming into me.
