Page 39 of Love, Maybe (baby?) (The Lucky Girls 2)

Chapter 14

Noah

Rooster paces back and forth on the side of the field. The crowds go wild. The atmosphere in the stadium is electric. The guys are getting tired—they’ve been at it for over three hours. Every time we score a touchdown that can bring it home for us, the other team scores yet again. They’re neck and neck the whole game.

“If they’ll just fucking stop, we can put an end to this,” Rooster growls. “But they have to keep coming back.”

“It’s the name of the game,” I say, but I’m just as on edge.

It should have been an easy game. We beat this team easily the last time we faced them. The win was already in the bag. Or so we thought.

But that’s exactly what Rooster always cautions the players against—getting arrogant. They walked onto that field like they already owned it. The confidence is good, but they figured it was a done deal. They weren’t ready.

That’s when the Arizona team went in for the kill.

The guys picked up their game as soon as they realized Arizona came with their game faces on. But it wasn’t enough. And I’m starting to think it still might not be. Right now, we’re down seven. If we score a touchdown, it’s still not enough to pull us through. We need a two-point conversion after the touchdown.

The crowd erupts when Darrell gets his hands on the ball and breaks through the defensive players. He side-steps, dodges, and manages to barge through the defense line like a battering ram.

“Yes! Yes!” Rooster shouts, and his voice sounds like it’s about to crack and break. His face is red, veins popping on his neck. I’m shouting, too.

Darrel makes it to the end zone, and the crowd goes wild, but we’re still down one, and we need a fucking miracle if we’re going to pull ahead.

Coach calls their last time out and brings the team together when the ref blows the whistle.

“We need to go for it,” he says to the team. “We need to make the two point.”

“What about a quarterback sneak?” Mason suggests. “Hank can take it home, right Hanky?”

Our quarterback nods. His face is red, his hair stuck to his face, and he looks small compared to some of the other guys. But the determination on his face tells Rooster all he needs to know.

“Let’s do it!” he shouts.

The guys clap each other on the helmets, muttering their support when Rooster puts his hand in the middle of the group. They all put their hands in and shout a cheer before running back out on the field.

“If this shit fails, we’ll see our first loss for the season. And if that cracks them, it will be twice as hard to get them back up,” Rooster says. He folds his arms over his chest.

“It’s going to work,” I say.

“Fucking hope so.”

The guys line up the way they should to get Hank the ball. When the whistle blows, the guys jump to it. The center passes the ball to Hank, and he runs down his line, between the opposing guard and center.

Rooster just about loses his mind shouting directions, and the thunder of the crowd carries the mixed emotions—the fans are mostly on our side, but we have a few Arizona fans in here, too.

Hank is tackled to the ground. The knock is so loud, I can hear his breath leave his body, and he falls to the ground with a cry. When he touches down, the crowd goes wild, and Rooster grabs me in a hug that nearly tackles me to the ground.

But when the whistle blows, he doesn’t get up.

“No, no, no,” Rooster mutters.

We don’t do this play often—it exposes Hank to too much punishment and he can get injured, running into the middle of the defense.

Like now.

Hank pulls himself up, and the crowd roars. A medic runs onto the field to check Hank out. A moment later, he gives the okay. He was down but he’s not out.

“Thank god,” Rooster says.

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