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“I don’t really know—or care—what you’ve promised him, but it sure as fuck seems to be working…” Cody says, looking at me with a smirk before turning his attention back to the game down below.
Twenty minutes later, when Danny manages another pass that leads to an easy touchdown, it seems that the whole stadium has gone insane. Some people are chanting ‘Super Bowl’, others are chanting ‘MVP’, but the majority has settled for screaming out ‘Manning’ at the top of their lungs. It’s insane.
I look at his giant image on the jumbotron, and I can’t help but remember how good it felt to be with him in his apartment… It’s all a bit surreal, isn’t it? One moment I’m watching a game, the next I’m fucking the best quarterback in the league.
By the time the game ends, the whole stadium is chanting Danny’s name as if he’s some kind of messiah; well, aside from the few Pounders’ fans in here, but even they're impressed by what Danny did on the field. The game ended 42-0 for the Nailers, which is not the kind of result you see every day, and more amazing than that is the fact that Danny was involved in every winning play. He was on fire… and now, so am I.
“I guess now you owe me,” Ashley laughs, turning to me and gently touching my arm.
“I guess I do,” I reply, already imagining all the things we’re going to do once we go back to his place. I take my cellphone out of my purse and, as I start writing him a text asking him where I should meet him, something crosses my mind. Why wait?
I jump out of my seat, my heart beating so fast I feel dizzy as I stand up. With both my hands on Ashley’s shoulders, I lean in and whisper into her ear. Her smile becomes wider and wider as I speak, and then she just laughs.
“You’re completely insane,” she chuckles, but she grabs what I want from inside her purse all the same and hands it to me.
“No way,” Becca laughs as she realizes what I have in my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re--”
“That’s right,” I grin, winking at the girls while Cody looks at me with one arched eyebrow and an amused smile.
“Time for me to go,” I tell them, turning on my heels and walking out of the skybox as quickly as I can. There’s a place I need to be in right now, and it simply can’t wait.
30
Danny
“How do you feel?”
“Do you believe you’re going to be this year’s MVP?”
“You think the Nailers will be this Super Bowl’s winner?”
The journalists surround me like a swarm of overly excited bees, firing question after question. “Alright, one at a time, folks,” I say, raising both hands up in the air and trying to calm them.
“How do you feel about the Nailers’ chances of winning this year’s Super Bowl?” A petite brunette with a fiery attitude asks right away in one single breath, shoving her red microphone just a few inches from my mouth.
“Pretty good, yeah. If we keep playing like this, it’s a sure thing,” I tell her without pausing to think. The media might think I’m a cocky bastard, but I’m usually right about these things. Besides, how can I not feel optimistic about our chances at a Super Bowl win? Did you see our last two games? We’re crushing everything and everyone.
“And about becoming MVP?” the brunette asks again, waving her microphone in front of me and pushing the other journalists to the side with her shoulders. For a girl as small as she is, she sure is determined.
“I don’t give a shit about becoming MVP,” I reply with a shrug. It’s the truth; I truly don’t care about getting patted on the back for being such a good boy. I care about winning, baby, and it’s all about the scoreboard. The only trophy I truly care about is the Super Bowl.
“But your performance these last few games have put you on the fast track toward it, according to the pundits,” she insists, and now the other journalists are trying to push her away. She holds her ground though, as if her heels are made of solid concrete.
“Maybe,” I tell her, “but you really shouldn’t be using my performance in the same sentence as ‘fast’.” That gets a laugh out of the swarm of journalists, and that makes her pause. She grows slightly flushed, her eyes widening as she looks at my lips. Yeah, I could take her for a spin if I wanted it to; unfortunately for her, there’s only one woman in my sight right now. Fuck, I can’t believe I just said that. What the hell’s happening to me?
“Danny, Danny,” an overweight guy calls out to me, pushing the brunette to the side and pushing his microphone toward me. “What’s your secret?”
“My secret? I’m Batman,” I tell him with a straight face, and that earns another round of laughs from everyone.
“You sure could be,” he continues without being taken aback, “your performance has been quite impressive. You’ve been one of the best players in the league since your debut, but this season you’ve taken things to a whole new level.”
“That’s true. I never settle, Oliver,” I tell him, reading the name on the press card he has hanging around his neck.
“What changed, though? This game in particular… The pundits say this might've been one of the best quarterback performances in decades, during regular season.”
I purse my lips, thinking about what he just said. I truly was on fire during the game, but what’s all this talk about being MVP, the Super Bowl, and my fucking performance? We’re just in the regular season, for fuck’s sake.
“Look, fellas,” I try to calm them down, but they’re having none of it. They keep waving their microphones at me as if they’re spears, and I start thinking that if I want to leave the stadium I might have to punch my way out. “Why don’t we talk about this after we win the Super Bowl?” I say, and that makes them go even crazier. Every single photographer starts snapping pictures of my million-dollar smile, a
