AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I scrambled up off the bodies anyway, ready to take out more, take out the whole line if I had to, but Walker had already found his footing, and the ball went sailing, soaring, a deep, beautiful fucking pass, right into Howser’s hands five yards from the end zone, and he froze like he always did, all hands, no feet, but this time it didn’t matter.
Ollie thought they had us.
Iknewit was the away crowd on their feet, I couldhear, I couldtell. The backup was going down. The last ditch play was a loser. Winner, Ollie Prep. They were partying already.
And then Howser faked right, tucked his shoulder deep, and stretched his arm out, and two seconds before Ollies crushed him from both sides, Ellis tiptoed by him, and Howser flipped him the ball so fast no one realized what was happening before it was too late. Ellis put a little gas on it and punched it in with no followers. And just like that, game over.
Winner, Maddox Sharks, motherfucker.
I staggered over and grabbed Walker in a bear hug, lifting him up off the ground, and we watched Ellis dance around the endzone, shaking his ass, ready to sign autographs while Howser limped off to the sidelines.
“Shit,” Walker said, stunned, and I laughed.
“Sure no party at your place?”
* * *
The tunnel outside the back exitof the locker room was what everyone called The Huddle. Where friends and families waited after home games, and everyone cheered when we won and hung around talking shit when we lost. Where girlfriends pulled on their victory jerseys or acted like it didn’t matter when they stayed hanging up in the laundry room, and everyone decided where they were partying or drowning sorrows after.
No one ever met me back there. But tonight was different.
Halfway down The Huddle, Caleb was leaning against the concrete wall, a long, tall shadow so fucking good at being invisible, but I saw him, and god the good feelings, they just swelled up deeper every time, swallowing me up until they almost killed me. I’d figured he’d be in the parking lot, or maybe still in the stands, but he’d tracked me down, no trouble at all.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him, grinning. I was ready for it to be awkward, for me not to be sure how to act with so many people around, but it was so much better this way. Being able to stop and smile and not worry about standing too close or staring too long or letting people know that yeah, he was mine, what about it.
Not that anyone was paying any attention, but still.
“Told you I wasn’t letting you out of my sight,” he said, glancing around, giving me a soft smile. “Wanted to be here to congratulate you.”
“Should be congratulating you,” I teased him. “You sat through an entire game. Surprised you're still awake.”
He smirked. “The end was exciting. I'm not sure what happened, but everyone was cheering a lot.”
I nodded, trying not to laugh. “I’ll explain it to you later.”
“You tackled a lot of guys. I saw some ass grabbing.”
I nodded again. It was so fucking nice, nicer than I’d ever even let myself think about, having someone here for me. Waiting. Asking about the game. Saying I did a good job.
“You get hurt?” he asked me.
“Nothing too bad. I’ll let you look me over. Clean me up.”
“I'd like that.”
“I'd like…” I hesitated, and he waited, and I felt like a fucking idiot as I pulled my bag off my shoulder and zipped it open. “It's kinda tradition for guys to let their girlfriends wear their away jerseys after we win. You know, to flex at parties. Or whatever. We don't have to go to any parties. But I thought maybe…” I pulled out my white away jersey and handed it to him. “If it would even fit you,” I muttered. “I don't know.”
It took him a minute to understand what I was saying, and I stood there with my face getting hotter and hotter in the dark. There was a reason I didn’t have fucking boyfriends. Okay, there were a million reasons, and none of them mattered anymore, but I was one awkward motherfucker when it came to the whole romantic gesture thing.
But the way his face lit up when he realized what I was asking totally made it worth it. Be my boyfriend. Let everyone know you’re my fucking boyfriend. Not just one kiss in one hallway in front of a couple guys who’d known before I did how much I loved you. Say you’re mine and I’m yours in big silver numbers on your chest. It stunned him so hard I thought he was going to cry or something for a minute.
“You sure about this?” he asked, looking at my jersey.
“Oh yeah.” I nodded. “But you can say no. You put that on and you have basically no chance of being invisible ever again.”
“Worth it,” he said, with zero hesitation, and pulled it on over his sweater. It was a good fit, but holy shit did he look like a nerd, my 67 plastered across his chest and his soft gray sleeves sticking out from underneath. “How's it look?”
I grinned. “Perfect.”
