Page 80 of Play the Last Track
The tension in my chest releases, my lungs inflate, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Thank god.
In one move, Flynn leans over and wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me across the gap between us and onto his lap. I squeal, smiling as he settles my legs over his thighs and wraps his arms around my waist to lock me in place.
“Thank you,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair. “For being patient with me.”
“Of course.” He leans in, pressing his mouth to my jawline, kissing a path to my ear. His fingers splay on my back and press my hips into his. “You’re my Rockstar. I would do anything for you.”
I lean back, keeping my hands around his neck. “Why do you call me that?”
“What?”
“Rockstar? You called me that at the airport. Why?”
“I guess the first time I met you, I just got the feeling you were made for bigger and better things. You had this energy about you, like someone could offer you the world and you’d say, ‘No, thank you, I’ll take it for myself.’”
The lump is back as I try to swallow his words. “That’s—that’s how you saw me?”
“Yeah.”
“It sounds like the girl I used to be.”
“You’ll be her again.” He kisses me on the lips, lingering close as he murmurs his next words against my lips. “I’ll be right next to you while you figure it out.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Flynn
Thehuddle’squiet,electricitysparking between the guys. You can feel it in the air. No one’s joking, no one’s laughing. We made it. Finally, the fucking Super Bowl.
We scraped through the conference finals, winning by the skin of our teeth, but we did it. New York put up a good fight, but we’d been on fire all game. For every play they threw at us, we had the answer. Scott almost cried. So did I.
He came to Boston to get a ring.
We’ve dreamed of the ring since college. Both of us, together on the field when the confetti releases. Every player wants to feel it at least once. If they’re lucky, if they’re good, they will.
Now is our time.
Scott looks each of us dead in the eye. “One play. Gun Spread Y Corner. We go now or we go home.” He looks at me last. “You ready, Reed?”
All eyes are on me. This is what we train for. What we live for. What we sacrifice for. I give a sharp nod, the movement minimal. Adrenaline rushes through my veins. I’m on the high again. As we break the huddle and spread out across the line, I flex my hands. The sharp pain I felt in those early regular season games is nothing but a memory.
I can’t regret it. That bar fight brought me Katie. If it weren’t for that douchebag in boat shoes, I would’ve probably just kept staring at her from afar, never having the guts to find out if we were anything more than a one-night stand on a holiday.
We are.
So, so much more.
My heart pounds as if it’s trying to match the game clock. I split off, wide off the line, advantaging the wide receiver’s position and lining myself with a smaller defender. I’m quicker. I can outrun him. It’s fourth and goal, the ball’s on the eight. The end zone is in sight, and my blood rushes from the pressure cooker that is this final play.
I glance at the safety. Too shallow. The corner’s inside leverage. If I go wide, he’ll miss me. Mistake. They’re weak.We’re going to do this.
Snap.
I burst off the line, exploding into my route with every inch of power and speed I can muster. I make a quick jab to the outside, leading the cornerback out of position. He bites, taking the bait as he shifts his weight to the outside line. I plant my foot into the turf and use the leverage to change my direction, heading for the corner of the end zone.
It’s a clean route. No stumbling, no contact. I feel open before I even look back.
