Cocky looked back to me with a small smile.
“Interested?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
He smiled. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll teach you.”
First sex, then fun? Careful, Juliette.
“Personal lessons from a future Hall of Famer? How can I refuse?”
“You can’t turn me down, and you know it.”
He got to his feet with an athletic flip of his body. With one hand extended, he looked at me with that assured smile on his face.
He might be right about that.
PRESENT
“Looks like sensor seven is out, but the rest of them are working properly,” I said.
Dr. Kent nodded. “And the data lines up with what we expected to see, based on our calibration results and early testing with the college team.”
We stood on the sideline of the practice field, splitting attention between the action on the field and the tablets in our hands. The men played a light scrimmage, full contact but taking it easy.
Their helmets contained sensors, and so did their shoulder pads. Every hit registered a spike on the charts, and we could cycle through each individual player’s data or watch the full stream of all players at the same time. Heart rate was layered on top of the charts, each player showing short bursts of intense activity during each play.
I tilted my tablet away from the professor, hiding how much time I spent watching one player’s feed in particular.
The quarterback is a unique position. It makes sense to see how his data differs from the rest of the team.
I’d always been good at justifying things to myself.
“Ooh,” we said at the same time as a linebacker was leveled and hit the ground hard.
The spike in the chart came close to the ominous dotted red line, and the graph turned a deep yellow.
“Close call,” I murmured.
“It would have been a poor first day if we had to pull someone out of the practice this early,” the professor said.
“Still lots of time left.”
The red line represented the latest research on what level of impact may cause a concussion. We now knew they could happen at a much lower level than previously thought, so hits that had been routine might lead to further evaluation.
The next hour of practice rolled along without incident and only a few minor hits that remained green on the graph.
The players took a water break, standing in groups around the coolers. Travis took a cup and walked to where the professor and I stood on the sideline.
“Hey, Travis,” I said, glancing at Dr. Kent. He kept his gaze on his tablet, but his ear twitched.
“Mind if I take a look? I’m curious what information these sensors give you guys over here.”
Travis didn’t wait for an invitation, leaning in close beside me to get a look at the screen. He’d been sweating in the sun as he exerted himself, but he didn’t smell bad. The manly scent brought back memories of Florida so strong that it took all my will not to jump him.
This is harmless, right? It’s not like I can’t show the team’s quarterback what we’re doing with the study. He deserves to see it.
So long as he didn’t put moves on me or say anything too suggestive while Dr. Kent stood two feet away.
“This is the main dashboard,” I said, bringing up the appropriate screen. “From here, the app will flag any players we should take a look at and the average activity level over the past five minutes.”
He edged even closer, hovering over my shoulder. His face was inches away—it was impossible to ignore how close his lips were to mine.
I held still, savoring his nearness.
“That’s so cool,” he said, his voice low in my ear.
I cleared my throat. “Let me bring up your graph. See those little bumps? Those are where you slid to the ground.”
“Huh. I didn’t realize they would be so sensitive. Is that my heart rate?”
I nodded. “Good guess. You can see how it spikes during each play, and then after the break started, it eased back down near your resting rate. Although here…”
I trailed off. Travis’s heart rate had picked back up a minute before.
When he’d walked over to talk to me.
Is that what I do to him?
Already unable to ignore how close he stood, I was suddenly hyperaware of his breathing and the way his chest lightly touched the back of my shoulder. His body seared me with an intense heat, and I loved every second.
The silence had gone on too long. The professor would think it was weird.
“So that’s yours,” I finished lamely. “Anything else you want to know?”
“What’s that?” Travis asked, pointing to a red exclamation point in the corner.
I flicked it with my finger, and the screen displayed the tracker data from the linebacker who’d taken the big hit earlier. “This is Curtis’s graph. You can see when he got taken down earlier. His head slammed into the ground, and he got dangerously close to the level that would require concussion testing.”
That caused Travis to back away a little. I looked up to his face to see him staring at the screen with furrowed eyebrows.
“It didn’t look like that hard of a hit on the field.”
He sounded freaked out.
“That’s why the monitoring is a good thing,” I said, in a rush to placate him. “It’s not about the overall hit so much as the way his head hit the ground. There were a couple of other hits that also looked dangerous, but they didn’t even come close to registering the same way on the sensors.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. Defensive.
“How will this information be used during games?”
I hesitated and looked to Dr. Kent. He was watching the exchange and gave me a nod. We’d discussed this.
I laid my hand on Travis’s arm. Not strictly a good idea, but I wanted to reassure him. If the quarterback got up in arms over the study, then it would be doomed.
“We’re just collecting data for now. The sensors aren’t certified to make medical decisions yet. The coaches and training staff will continue to make decisions the same way they always have.”
“Yet?” He tilted his head as he looked at me.
Of course he picked up on that word.
“We’re in the process of having them certified, but that’s just for greater flexibility in all usage scenarios. These sensors can be used in many fields and sports, not just football. It’s in the school’s best interest to patent the device and make sure it can be as widely deployed as possible.”
He paused, his face clouded. Then he nodded and dropped his arms back to his sides. “That makes sense.”
I wanted to put my arms around him and soothe his fears. I wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that, but I could feel Dr. Kent’s attention on us, and who knew who else was watching.
Instead, I nodded to the field.
“Looks like the team is getting back out there.”
Travis glanced to the green expanse. “Looks like it.”
He drained the rest of his water and crumpled the cup into a ball. The nearest garbage can was twenty feet away, but instead of walking it over, he threw it. The cup sailed in a perfect arc, landing in the middle of the opening.
“Go get ‘em,” I said, watching as he jogged back to his teammates.
I caught the look Dr. Kent gave me when I tore my eyes away, and I flushed to the roots of my hair. The tablet became intensely interesting while I waited for the heat to leave my cheeks.
You’re fine, Juliette. You’ve got this.
Only the entire season left to go.
Chapter 8
~Travis~
PAST
“I thought we would be on the same team!”
Juliette stood across the line of scrimmage, fingers on the sand in the crouch I’d taught her.
“That would make it too easy, Sexy,” I told her over Joey’s ba
ck. The big man was ready to snap the ball. “I want you to work for it.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
I started the play and grabbed the ball from Joey.
It was just a small game of touch on the sand, but football was football. I could see every play developing, the routes of my receivers and the actions of the other team’s defense. The guys had scrounged up a bevy of women to play with us—the whole thing was just an obvious ruse to get the girls hot and sweaty and touching each other.
Three of us formed the core of each team, and scantily-clad women ran around the sand, screeching and laughing. Not Sexy, though. She had a fire in her eyes, and she came straight for me.
The ball left my hand in a perfect spiral a moment before we crashed together. I cradled her against my body as we fell to the sand, cushioning her from the landing.
“I got you,” she said, grinning from on top of me, her body pressed against mine in a position reminiscent of last night.
“You did.” I nodded. “Not before I got my pass off, though.”
She looked downfield, to where Joey and Ricky celebrated in the makeshift end zone marked with t-shirts and towels.
“Lucky throw.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it. I wanted you to tackle me.”
Sexy put her hands on my chest. “Why would you want that?”
I put my arms around her. “So I can do this.”
Holding her tight, I rolled and took her with me until I was on top and she lay underneath me. Her long brunette hair spread in a fan around her head, and her lip trembled as she looked up at me. I held my weight above her, pressing my body against hers but being careful not to crush her underneath me.
Our lips met, hard and quick. I buried my hand in her hair so I could bring her closer.
We split apart, breathing heavily.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Ricky shouted. “Game’s still on. It’s only been a single play, you horn dog.”
I laughed.
“Ready to lose some more?”
“Slow down there, Cocky. That’s pretty tough talk, coming from a second-stringer.”
Her eyes sparkled underneath me, vibrant and alive.
She’s got a lot of nerve.
It was more of a turn on than I thought it would be.
“Admit it. You’re having fun.”
“I admit nothing,” she scoffed. “I just like seeing you boys run around without shirts.”
I got to my feet and pulled her up with sheer strength, setting her on her feet. “Turns you on, doesn’t it, Sexy?”
She bit her lip. “Let’s just say that you’d better not have any plans tonight.”
PRESENT
“Don’t worry, Travis, we’ll take it easy on you.”
Damon Jones stood across the line from me—Portland’s running back. We’d been two sides of the league’s most potent offense last year. It felt weird to stand across from him instead of beside him at a coin toss.
“Don’t do that,” I told him. “Give me everything you’ve got so I can really enjoy it when I beat you.”
He grinned. “If you insist, but don’t complain later when you look at the scoreboard and see yourself down more points than you’ve ever been. I still don’t know why you left. We could have won the championship together this year. And now you’re slumming it in Los Angeles. It’s sad.”
I couldn’t be angry at him—he made good points. But his cocky attitude only fed my competitive edge.
“Just wait and see, Damon. I think we’ll surprise you tonight.”
The ref cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, if you’re done, we need to get on with the game.”
I nodded, and Damon mimicked the gesture.
“Portland, you have the call.”
The ref looked to Damon, coin resting on his thumb.
“Tails.”
The coin arced high into the air before tumbling to the ground, and the players, refs and cameras all leaned in to get a look.
“Tails,” the ref said. “Portland, your choice.”
Not a great start.
“We’ll receive,” Damon said. “I want to see the look on Travis’s face when we go up by a touchdown on the first drive and he can’t do anything about it but watch.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be so cocky, Damon. You don’t have me running your offense anymore.”
We went back to our respective teams and prepared for kickoff.
It was no accident that I stood near the trainers as I watched the teams set up. Juliette stood with them, tablet in hand, watching the men align themselves on the field. Dr. Kent was a dozen yards away, talking with the team doctor. I edged closer to her until we stood side by side. The tablet had just a single player’s charts on it—Travis King was written across the top in big, bold letters.
She looked up at me when she noticed me next to her. A flush warmed her cheeks, and she swiped at the tablet’s screen a few times until it displayed the main dashboard.
“Travis! You’re not out there?” Juliette asked.
I had to laugh at the question. “You really don’t know anything about football after all these years, do you? We’re kicking to Portland, but even if we were receiving, the quarterback doesn’t go onto the field for the kick return.”
She slapped me in the arm, the gesture light and playful, as though she’d forgotten the boundaries she’d set between us. “It’s not my fault. I’ll pick it up as the season goes on.”
“I’m sure you will. What do you think of your first pro football game?”
Juliette looked around the massive stadium. Cameras were everywhere, and the hustle and bustle on the sidelines was impressive.
“I can’t believe how many people are here. The cheering is so loud!”
That was a sore spot for me. Juliette may be impressed, but there were entire rows of empty seats scattered throughout the stadium. The turnout was pathetic for one of the largest metropolitan areas in the country. Portland had sold out every game with a tiny fraction of the population.
You have to give them a reason to come to see us play.
Nothing killed attendance like a season full of blowouts and hopelessness. And nothing turned it around quicker than winning.
“It is a spectacle,” I said. “You should see the championship game. I’ve never been part of something so incredible. When the time ticked down to that last play of the game, I could barely hear myself think.”
It would have been easy to blame the botched throw on the noise and the pressure and the expectation, but even though the endless circuit of talk shows had pushed me in that direction, I’d resisted.
The failure was my own.
“I’d love to see that someday,” Juliette said. “Maybe you can take me.”
Her guard was down without her professor nearby, and an easy amiability settled between us.
“I promise I will.” I said it with force.
And I’ll be on the field for that game. And after I hoist the trophy, I’ll take you into my arms and kiss you.
There was no more time for easy banter—it was game time.
“When do you get to play?” Juliette asked.
“Not until we kick the ball to Portland and our defense gets them to punt it away. Then I’ll get the chance to push us up the field and hopefully get a touchdown.” I bounced on my toes, watching as the ref blew the whistle. “This is the hardest part for me—waiting for my opportunity to go out there and make a difference.”
The ball soared through the air.
Damon caught it and hugged it to his chest.
“We want to take him down as early as possible so they start deep in their end,” I said to Juliette as we watched Los Angeles uniforms converge on the running back.
With a quick sidestep and a spin, Damon avoided the first two tackles that flew his way. With a graceful dance, he sprinted up the field.
“That’s not good, right?” Juliette asked.
Damon jumped over another t
eammate.
“No,” I said, the word falling from my lips like a curse. “That’s not good at all.”
The further my old teammate got down the field, the more my heart sank. Past half. Then into field goal range. Then he broke free of the last defenders.
“That son of a bitch.”
The stadium was eerily quiet.
“He scored?”
First possession of the season, and we were already down a touchdown.
“Yes. Fuck.”
The other team scored their conversion and set up to kick the ball back.
Jermaine caught it, but he lost a few yards as he attempted to mimic Damon’s success before he was taken to the ground.
This is not good. Terrible field position.
“That’s my cue,” I said, strapping my helmet on.
“Good luck,” Juliette said, her hand on my arm and eyes on my own. “You’ve got this.”
I marched onto the field, determined to take back control of the game.
Three incomplete passes later, and I was back. After getting an earful from Tony, I retreated to Juliette’s side.
“That was so fast,” she said, eyes wide. “You only get three throws?”
I restrained the impulse to punch something.
“I do when we don’t get a first down or have any catches at all.” It was a terrible start, but it was only one drive. I fought to keep my breathing level.
Did I make a mistake by leaving Portland?
It was early, but the other team was so much more poised and confident that it felt like a matchup between a high school and a college team.
Portland made no mistakes on their next drive. The recipients of fantastic field position, courtesy of our stuttering offense, it took only five plays for them to score another touchdown.
The next time I took the field, there was no more time for tentative play.
“Alright, men. We need momentum. We need a catch. I don’t care if it’s for one yard or fifty. I’m throwing to the open man, and that man had better catch it. Do you understand me? Let’s show these assholes what we’ve got.”
A terse silence met my words. The men were professionals, but they were spooked.
Extracurricular Page 18
