Leather slid into my gloves like a dream.
I pulled the ball to my chest and rotated mid-air to line up inside the pylons. My feet hit the ground, and I ran like my life depended on it.
Mason caught up and rammed into me with the force of a small country. His momentum and weight thrust us through the end zone and out of bounds. He landed on his side, but I plowed forward, unable to stop.
Photographers dove out of the way, and a swish of blonde hair, silver pom-poms, and skimpy red fabric filled my line of vision as I careened forward. The unsuspecting cheerleader spun around and hit me with a pair of familiar harbor-blue eyes, followed by bouncing blonde hair that was warm like preseason sunshine.
“Shit!” I yelped, then smashed into her and flattened her lithe body like a pancake. My facemask pressed a waffle pattern into her cheek.
A collective groan filled the stadium.
She coughed and winced. “Tatum?”
Fuck me sideways.That angelic face had haunted me since I arrived in Rhode Island. I cupped my hand around the back of her hair. “What are you doing here, Little Bird?”
Her eyes blinked once, twice, then rolled back in her head.