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She’s freaking adorable. Especially when she’s wearing my jersey and screaming my name.
My number and my ring look good on her.
I get called back into the game, and I’m in tunnel vision mode, giving 110% of my focus to the offense in front of me. It’s the end of the game, and we’re up by three points.
Great? Yes.
Comfortable and complacent? Hell no.
There’s a full minute left on the game clock, and we’re looking at third and nine. If we don’t get this ball nine more yards down the field and secure this first down, Houston gets the ball back.
With almost a minute to go before the game is over, that would give them the chance to tie with a field goal, or hell, even beat us with a touchdown.
Anything can happen in the final minute of a football game. I’ve seen the craziest shit happen in thirteen seconds. Turnovers, touchdowns, fumbles, interceptions, ridiculous flags, career-ending injuries.
Giving Houston back the ball right now is not a gamble I want to take.
It’s in moments like these that people either make stupid mistakes or step the fuck up. I’m stepping up.
In the huddle, Maxwell shouts at us, saying the ball is either going to Jude or it’s coming to me. It will be an in-the-moment decision, based on the defense’s coverage.
The ball is snapped. Jude, our star tight-end, takes off down the field. But he’s immediately double teamed. There’s no way he can get open.
Maxwell sends me a no-look handoff behind the back. I grab the ball right out of the air and take off. No hesitation. Fueled by adrenaline and a burning need to win, I sprint straight down the middle of the field.
Eight yards to go.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Then a defender from the opposite team is diving at my legs. Fucker.
I twist and spin, juking left to avoid him entirely. By some miracle, it works, and I make it another yard. Then another. There’s fire tearing through every limb of my body, I’m so pumped.
When I have just two yards left, another fierce defender flies at me. This guy goes for a full body tackle instead of just my legs. I brace myself and manage to stay on my feet, carrying this heavy asshole on my back. I refuse to go down until I’m past the first down marker.
I fucking refuse. I fucking refuse.
The home crowd erupts. They’re going wild. Their faces, a blur of screams and anticipation. Over all the noise crowding my head, I hear her voice. I hear her whispering my name. Spurring me on. The way she does when I’m buried inside her.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Harry. Don’t stop.
I’m doing this for her. I’m doing this for Nadia.
The refs make the signal; the first down is ours.It’s ours! It’s fucking ours!
After that, all Maxwell has to do is hike the ball and down it twice.
And we’re in.
We’re in the fucking playoffs.
I drop to my knees on the turf, face upturned to the sky. The Paragons are in the fucking playoffs, baby!
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