Page 53 of Lavender and Linebackers

“Not really.” I shrug. “Just added some subtle highlights.”

“I like it.”

His cheeks flush at the admission, and my heart thumps hard in my chest. Why do I long for him so? And what is this longing? Is it a longing for what we used to have? Is this nostalgic yearning? Or am I longing for what I wish we could have going forward? I know how good we are as friends. Or . . . am I longing for something more?

“Come on, let’s get you back on the boat.” He smiles at me. It’s tender, full of kindness, and my nose starts burning.

I will not cry.

I hold his shoulders as he swims us over and helps me up onto the boat. Kelli hands me my towel, and she has one brow raised. “What are we friends now?” she asks, but only I hear her. I don’t answer her back. What would I say? I have no idea what we are. After all, she’s the one who dumped us.

A couple of hours later, Danica sends over the photos. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t these. The formal photos of Kelli and me look great. All of the products are standouts, well positioned, and will get clicks without a doubt. But it’s the pictures of Ryder and me that I can’t take my eyes off.

We don’t look like we hate each other. We look like we’ve known each other forever. We look like we’re so much more. We’re both constantly leaning toward each other. His eyes are always on me, and in the shots in the water, we look . . . we look like we’re undoubtedly together. We look affectionate, loving, and . . . we look insanely hot. I thought a shirtless Ryder was something, but a wet Ryder is something completely different.

Chapter 18

Ryder

This is the last game for a while, and I’m glad. I need a break in the routine, and my poor body needs a break from the chase, the mental preparation, and the tackling.

It’s different playing at this level. Was it time-consuming at Clemson? Yes, but here, what people don’t understand is that it really is a full-time job. We spend countless hours studying film, learning offensive tendencies, memorizing game plans from fourteen different opponents over seventeen games, and then practicing communication between all of us so we know what is happening at any given moment. I swear the mental game is more important than the physical game.

But speaking of physical, when I went through the meet-and-greet process before the draft, I remember one of the coaches talking about the importance of speed. How a play in college can develop in 2.8 seconds, and in the NFL it’s 2.2 seconds. That might not seem like a lot, but to a linebacker, it is. Just one example: in 0.6 seconds, a running back can cover 15 to 18 feet. They can hit the hole, bust through the line of scrimmage, and now instead of being ahead of the running back, I’m having to chase him down while they gain yardage and advance the ball.

That 0.6 seconds is defining and can be cause and effect from the top down. From the quarterback getting the ball out, the wide receiver getting a breakaway, a lineman holding you up, one has to always be playing their best, because everyone out here is the best.

Which is why I need a break.

My brain and my body are shot, and finally, next week we have a bye week. I could cry tears of joy.

Alice and I also have the gala. The Tarpons have organized the two of us to attend the Heart Gallery of Tampa gala. This nonprofit group uses photography and video of children in the foster care system as a way of visibility that helps them find permanent homes. They’ve helped many children over the years, and since we visited our school and because of Mighty Monarchs, they thought an event focusing on children would be great exposure for the campaign. The theme is Dr. Seuss. It’s being held at the Children’s Museum, and it should be a fun night.

After the bye week, it’s our turn for Monday night football, and we’re playing the Carolina Panthers. They’re in our division, this will be a big rival game, and I will be bringing my A game.

Especially because I won’t be standing under the blazing-hot sun sweating my balls off.

This heat is brutal. I don’t know how other teams come here and play. Today, we’re up against Detroit. I looked up their weather, and the high is in the upper sixties. Here today it’s eighty-six degrees, and I have no idea what the heat index is. In the stadium, we’re in a massive concrete bowl and surrounded by seventy thousand fans radiating body heat.

Glancing up at the jumbotron, the cheerleaders are dancing to “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne. I look for Alice, but I don’t see her.

Alice.

My mind drifts to Tuesday afternoon, and my stomach clenches. Thinking about her in a bikini is not good for my psyche. And remembering what she felt like wrapped around me? I have no words.

Every day this week, she’s posted a couple of photos for the products, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t screenshot them so I could look at them again. That lip balm she had on made her lips look even plumper than normal. Add in that they were shiny and her bikini had cherries on it, in my mind, she tasted like a cherry too. One I very much wanted a taste of, only I know better. I tried that once and failed epically. But being that close to her, and having her face close to mine, it didn’t stop me from dreaming about it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing an official Tarpons marketing campaign?” Sully asks as he slides up next to me during this commercial break. I thought we were good, especially after our outing with the girls. But he’s been avoiding me all day, and now I know why.

I turn to face him and hold up my hand to shield the sun from beating down into my helmet and blinding me. “I don’t know. I assumed you knew. It’s been all over the Tarpons social media pages for quite some time. Those large pictures of us on the stadium, buses, and billboards have been up for months. I mean, we were on the news together. Did you not hear about that? I wasn’t hiding it. I just wasn’t talking about it. You saw how the text thread blew up when you mentioned it yesterday.”

“If you had said something, I could have tried to get you out of it.” He sounds offended for me, and I appreciate it more than he knows.

“Nah, it’s fine.” My gaze sweeps over the offense. They’re all huddled together and using the extra time. I try to get a read on who the quarterback is talking to. Didn’t they already know their next play, or are they trying to trip us up?

“Fine? This is your rookie year. It’s a hard year, and the only thing you need to be focusing on is learning and growing at the professional level.”

I don’t understand this guy. Why am I getting a lecture now? We just started the fourth quarter, and we’re tied. Was he holding in his anger toward me this whole game, and all of a sudden, he can’t anymore? Seems to me he needs to be redirecting toward the competition.