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“I was just catching your bodyguard up to speed,” the detective explained. “Based on the threat the attacker made last night, we suspect this is related to sports gambling. We’re involving an agent from the gaming commission. They will keep an eye out for any unusual wagers, especially prop-bets regarding your personal performance.”
“He explained to me that prop-bets are wagers on individual achievements,” Cazzie said. “How many catches you’ll make next game, how many touchdowns, yards…”
“The gaming commission takes this very seriously. If there’s any hint of impropriety, they can void all wagers related to a game. They don’t like to do it, but it’s not unheard of.”
“There must be tens of thousands of gamblers in this country,” I said. “Millions, maybe. You think they can identify my attacker based on wagers made?”
The detective shrugged. “You shake enough trees, sometimes something falls loose. Regardless, I’m keeping a patrol car on you around the clock until something changes.” He shook his head. “Despite the threat the attacker made, I’m not entirely sold on the idea that this is related to gambling.”
“Why not?” Cazzie asked.
“Luke’s a wide receiver,” he explained. “He can only affect the game so much. If a gamblerreallywants to change the outcome of a game, they go after the quarterback.” He rose. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ve got to get me one of those machines.”
“You find this guy, and I’ll buy one for you,” I promised.
We ate breakfast, then went to practice. Cazzie was comforting and concerned, but kept things professional. I was grateful for that. As much as I had thought about what we had done last night, and how much I wanted to do it again, I had too much on my mind right now. I needed to wrap my head around everything without any distractions.
Rather than go inside to complete her own workout, Cazzie remained glued to my side. When I did some warm-up jogs around the field, she jogged with me. When the rest of the offense and I practiced our game plays, Cazzie watched from the sideline.
“I feel safe during practice,” I told her as we left. “You can go inside and exercise. I’ll be fine.”
“I know,” she replied simply, but the next day she was in the same spot, watching me without pause.
Cazzie never brought up what we had done. She didn’t make any moves on me at night, either. She was totally respectful of my space, and completely dedicated to her job of protecting me. She made extra rounds around the apartment complex. When we ordered take-out, she made the delivery person leave the food in the hall, and only waited until they were gone before opening the door. On the third day of practice, she started wearing a taser on her hip. I was tempted to tease her about it, since I had criticized her for not having any protection when she was first assigned to me, but I held back. After the way she had protected me, I wasn’t going to make fun of her for anything related to her job—even jokingly.
Sunday evening, we played the Broncos. Even though our rivals had a losing record, the media was hyping up this game as a huge milestone for our season. Would the Stallions remain undefeated, or would the Broncos play spoilers?
Our head coach knew about the attack this week, but we had made the decision not to tell my teammates. We didn’t want any more distractions. It was bad enough that the attack was on my mind around the clock—we didn’t need them worrying about it, too.
The crowd was louder than I had ever heard them before. On the first play of the game, I sprinted off the line of scrimmage like I had something to prove. I stutter-stepped to shake my defender and then caught a pass from Dallas Lockett. Not content with just that, I lowered my shoulder and bulled through the next defender before going to the ground. I only gained an extra yard or two, but it gave me a much-needed boost of confidence.
“Hit me again,” I told Dallas in the huddle.
“You keep getting open, and I’ll keep feeding you the ball,” he promised.
I played with a chip on my shoulder the rest of the game. I channeled all my emotions into my play style: all the frustration and anger from the attacker, and the blossoming excitement I felt for Cazzie. I dodged tackles and steamrolled over defenders. I pounded my chest after big plays and growled at the Broncos players. Adrenaline burned in my veins and made me feel unstoppable.
“Let’s fucking go!” I screamed when the game clock hit zero. We had won by four touchdowns, an emphatic victory over our mountainous rivals. I tore off my helmet and ran over to the stands, where the crowd was cheering and pounding their hands on the railing. I let out a primal roar of victory and allowed the noise to wash over me.
“You played extra fierce today, Luke,” one of the reporters asked me after the game. “Were you motivated to beat the Broncos more than any other team?”
“I’m motivated about a lot of things right now,” I replied. “We beat the Broncos on their territory earlier in the season, and it feels even better to do so at home.”
“You know I have to ask the question again,” another reporter said apologetically. “But this brings your record to 10 wins, zero losses. Are you starting to think about an undefeated season?”
“Honestly? Right now, it feels like we’re never going to lose again. We feel pretty damn unstoppable.”
Out in the hallway, Cazzie grinned at me. “Surprised you said that about never losing again. The media is going to play that soundbite all week.”
“I hope they do. I’m done worrying about the little stuff like that.” I glanced sideways at her. “I have more important things on my mind, now.”
We stopped outside the locker room. One of her eyebrows rose. “You’ll have to tell me about it on the way home.”
I took in the sight of Cazzie, tall and fit and irresistible. I knew exactly what I had in mind. I wanted to pick up where the two of us had left off earlier in the week. I wanted to take her home, rip her clothes off, and then show her what Ireallywanted.
Forget waiting until we get home,I thought while she smiled at me.I can’t wait that long.
17
