Page 64 of Forever Offsides

Russel grunts and looks away.

“Our condition is unchanged.” Crew stands. “You want to play ball here? You want to win? You stay the fuck away from her or I’ll do more than break your nose next time.”

Mason stands beside Crew, everyone waiting for the verdict.

A nod. That’s all Russel gives them.

“Then we’re cool.” Mason slaps Crew’s shoulder. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Coach.”

Both of them leave my office, and I release a tense breath.

“Quinn’s a grown woman. They don’t have a say in this. If I want her back, it’s between her and me.”

My jaw locks, and my fists grow tight as something greasy and unpleasant curls its way through me.

Not my girl. Not my say.

Once again, I’m jealous. It eats me alive. A father is never supposed to be jealous of his child. I know I can’t have her, but how do I shake the desire for her?

Except I’m the coach of all my players, not just him. “You just agreed.”

Christ, I’m a bastard. What am I doing? Did I do that for Crew, Mason, and the team? Or for myself?

He makes a dismissive noise. “She’s not so hot on me right now anyway, but if there’s a shot, I’m taking it. For now, we’ll see how it goes.”

20

QUINN

It’s Monday Night Football and the first official game of the season. I made it through training camp with virtually no interaction with the Jones boys and not a single player getting hurt other than on the first day. I’ve been on the sidelines for games before. Hell, I came out onto this field as a little baby, barely able to walk.

I feel at home here as much as anywhere, but the energy in the air is different than it has been before, and it’s not simply because it’s a cool night in Boston.

The national anthem just finished, and the kickoff is about to happen. We’re starting on defense, and I know Mason likes that. He likes to watch how the opposing team’s offense starts a game. We’re at a commercial break, and you can feel the energy radiating off the players.

I walk over to my brothers, who are standing side by side, their hands tucked into the tops of their jerseys and pads, pulling them away from their necks with intense game-ready expressions on their faces. It’s funny. I doubt they’re even aware they’re doing the same thing.

“Good luck out there tonight, guys. Kick some ass.”

Both break into smiles and give me a hug.

“Won’t lie,” Crew says, squeezing extra tight, “I love having you on the field.”

I pat the back of his head, drop a kiss on his cheek, then Mason’s, and go to return to my post when I nearly trip over the back of someone’s foot.

“Oh, sorry,” I tell them, only to realize it’s Rhett. That would have been bad form to trip the coach before the game started.

“No worries,” he replies. Our eyes lock, and that tingle of butterflies takes flight in my belly as they do every time we do this. We may not have talked or interacted, but I could tell he was watching me when he didn’t think I was noticing. And in return, I was doing the same with him.

Wanting someone you can’t have doesn’t make it easier to get over them. It makes it harder.

“Good luck tonight, Coach. You’re going to be great.”

He smiles and turns to me as if he’s going to say more when Russel comes over and drops his hand around my waist. Rhett’s smile slips into a frown, his jaw tensing, and without a word, he turns around, giving us his back.

“What are you doing?” I bark at Russel, more than a little annoyed.

His hands go up. “Relax. I’ve been good, haven’t I? I’ve kept my distance and tried your Elsa thing.”