by Tracey Ward
I pause, my arm cocked back, my eyebrows cocked high. “Seriously?”
She laughs at herself. “Right. Football player. I forgot.”
“How?”
“I really don’t know. My brain is kind of fried right now. This is really kind of surreal.”
I toss the ball with a grunt. It flies far downfield, no chucker needed. Kat digs in deep to go after it at a dead sprint.
“Do you watch a lot of football?” I ask Lilly.
She shakes her head ardently. “No. Only with my dad on Sundays. He’s a huge fan.”
“Kodiaks fan or football fan?”
“Both. Die hard Kodiaks fan, though. He even stuck with you guys when you had that one-win season, what? Ten years ago?”
“Seven. That was before my time.” I cast her a cocky grin. The one she loves to hate. “I would never have let that happen.”
She snorts. “What in the world did they do before you?”
“Lost, mostly. Are you and your dad close?”
“Yeah, we’re—“ she hesitates, her eyes narrowing like she’s trying to see something clearer. Something distant and downfield. When she speaks her voice is lower, her tone heavier. “You know what? No. We’re not. We used to be. But then… I guess things change. We stopped connecting. We don’t recognize each other anymore.”
My shoulders droop under the weight of her honesty. I’m taken aback by it. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath, holding it in, trying to buoy herself back up. “What about you? How are you and your dad?”
I tuck my hands into my pockets, my chin into my chest. I decide to give her an eye for an eye. Truth for truth. “We’re strangers. I never got to know him. My mom raised me alone until I was ten, then she got married to Charlie. He’s cool. He’s good to her. He came with a daughter, Mackenzie. She’s nineteen now.”
“Do the two of you get along?”
“Charlie and I, yeah. Absolutely. Mackenzie and I, pretty much only when we have to. Do you have any siblings?”
“A brother. Michael. He sucks. He refused to beat you up for me.”
“What?” I laugh. “What’d I do to deserve a beating?”
She grins, her cheeks blossoming rosy from the cold. Or maybe it’s embarrassment? Either way, it’s beautiful.
“You were nice to me,” she accuses. “Multiple times.”
“Oh shit, I earned a beating for that? What happens after tonight? I lose a knee cap?”
“We’ll have to wait and see.”
“I’ll try to be a dick. Save myself on hospital bills.”
Lilly chuckles softly. I could listen to that sound all day; her throaty timbre works its way into my mind, into my blood, until I’m humming with it. With her. With the magnetic pulse that is Lilly, a feeling under my skin that I couldn’t ignore tonight. I had to see her again and now that she’s here I’m running at a lower RPM than I ever have before. I’m idling steady and slow. Happy.
She looks downfield, her eyes scanning the stadium. She’s probably trying to picture it. To imagine what it’s like on a Sunday night when the world is watching. I can’t even start to tell her how exciting it is. It’s a high like nothing else in the world. Nothing you can understand until you’ve lived it and you love it the way I do. I’m always itching for game day, even in the middle of the night on a Sunday with the hurt from a game only hours before still aching in my bones. I want it again. I want another shot at making the magic happen. I want another hour in the spotlight making the fans scream my name.
But not tonight. Tonight I like the quiet and the cold and the company.
“How much time do you spend here?” Lilly asks curiously.
I groan thoughtfully, leaning back to stretch my arms up over my head. My back is tight from today’s practice. I can feel it every time I throw the ball. I’m just glad it’s not my knee. “A few hours a day for practices. Sometimes we have two of them. That’s five days a week. On game days we eat breakfast as a team at least five hours before the game. Then we’re here doing whatever we feel like doing to get ready.”
“What do you do?”
“I warm up with Tyus. We’re tight. We came onto the team at the same time, right out of the Draft. I’m the only person he’ll talk to before a game.” I drop my arms, gesturing to the field. “I run sprints with him, trying to keep up. I’m fast but he’s faster. Even on a Sugar Rush.”
“What’s a Sugar Rush?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest, a shiver coursing through her. “Is that a play?”
“No, it’s my thing. It’s what I do. I eat a shit ton of sugar before a game and get all amped up. It helps me run faster. Be more explosive.”
“And that really works?” she asks, her voice slightly tremulous.
“That’s what it feels like. Are you cold?”
She shrugs, the gesture turning into another shiver. “A little.”
“Do you need to go home? I’ll walk you out to your car.”
“No, but can we walk,” she replies, setting off along the sideline without waiting for me. “It’ll be warmer if we walk.”
I glance at my watch, cringing when I see the time. It’s eleven forty. It’s almost tomorrow and that early practice is creeping closer by the minute.
Still, I don’t hesitate to follow her. It feels like we just got here, to the stadium and to this place where Lilly grows warmer as the night grows colder, and I don’t want her to go.
Not yet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LILLY
“So be serious with me.”
“I’m always serious,” Colt replies immediately.
I snicker. “That is definitely not true, but try to be serious now, okay?”
“You got it.”
“What level is this move?”
“What move?”
“This move.” I twirl my finger in the air, referencing everything from the turf to the moon. “The afterhours visit to the field. The cute dog.”
“Kat.”
When she hears her name Kat stops in the middle of the field to watch us walking. When she sees we’re not leaving her she goes back to her business, chewing on her ball and running across the field at random. Her hot breath bursts from her mouth in frosty puffs that mark her trail like breadcrumbs.
“Fine. Kat,” I agree softly so she doesn’t hear. “What level is this? Because for the average guy this is boss level, but I think you’re working on a whole other scale than most men.”
“That’s true,” he agrees unabashedly.
“So, what level is this for you? Is it like introductory or intermediate maybe?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I like to know on what level I’m being played.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not playing you. This isn’t a move. I’ve never done this before.”
I cast him a wary glance, one that tells him in no uncertain terms that I do not believe him.
He laughs at my incredulity. “You were there when Ray saw Kat. I’ve never brought her here before because I’ve never brought any girl here before.”
“Nope, not buying it.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. It’s unbelievable that this is not a page in your playbook.”
He steps in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. His body towers over mine. It blots out the lights behind him like heavy clouds on the horizon. He drapes me in his shadow and his scent that rolls over me on the cold wind rushing across the field. It’s woodsy, the way he smells. Like cedar and soap. I catch myself breathing it in deeply, holding it in my lungs as I wait and wonder where this new wind will take me.
“You want to see one of my plays?” he asks softly, his voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. It rumbles in the air around me sending my hair on end, goosebumps racing across my skin. “This is what it looks like.” He takes a step closer. His eyes are hooded, his chin lowered to look at me with hunger and heat in his every feature. “This is
what it feels like.” He runs his fingertips across mine and into my palm. It’s faint and tickling. I’d laugh but my breath is frozen in my lungs. He dips his head lower, his lips closing in on mine. “Do you want to know what it tastes like, Lilly?”
God, yes.
But what I want worse is to be able to breathe. I can’t. And I can’t pull away. His eyes are too blue, his stare too intense, his hand too soft, his mouth too close. I’m remembering his almost kiss in the kitchen and every synapse in my brain is firing at once, all of it crashing together into one crazy, manic thought that’s screaming YES!
I lean into his touch. Toward his lips.
Colt takes a step back. His smile is cocky, his entire demeanor changing in an instant.
“That’s my introductory move,” he tells me plainly. “You don’t wanna know what my boss level looks like.”
I blink hard. “Fuck you,” I whisper.
He gives me that shit eating grin, the one that makes other men burn with enmity. That makes girls burn with excitement. The one that makes me so stupid that I almost forget how angry and embarrassed I am about falling for that act.
My cheeks are flaming, my eyes sharp as flint, when I tell him coldly, “Eat me, Avery.”
His grin only grows. "With a spoon, Hendricks. With a spoon."
I look away, shaking my head in annoyance, and I’m immediately thinking about leaving. I’m thinking that this is why. This is why I wanted to stay away from him, because I don’t want to get sucked into his game. He’s a player, plain and simple. He’s everything I don’t want, no matter how much my body tries to tell me otherwise.
So why did I come here in the first place? Why did I agree to meet him tonight?
Because Michael and Rona told me to give him a chance. Because I thought Rona was right; he’s nice. Because when I heard his voice on the phone, when he promised to be real with me, I believed him.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks, sensing the shift in my mood.
“I’m mad at myself.”
“For what?”
“For coming here,” I tell him angrily. “Look, I don’t fault you for having fun and enjoying the fame, but I’m not some toy for you to play with, alright? If you want a girl to run your games with, there are plenty of them out there who will happily let you, but I’m not one of them. You said you’d be real. You lied. I’m gone.”
“Whoa, hold up.” He puts his hand on my arm, stopping me gently. He looks into my eyes with a seriousness I haven’t seen on him so far. It changes him entirely, darkening his beauty, intensifying it until I feel weightless in its wake. “I showed you what a play looks like so you’d know that’s not what I’m about right now. Remember, you pushed me about it. I was being real with you. I still am. All of this, this is me trying to get to know you because I like you.”
“Why?”
He laughs, dropping his hand from my arm. “That’s a good fucking question. You’re trying your hardest to make sure I don’t like you, aren’t you?”
“Is it because I’m a challenge?” I push, hoping to God I’m wrong but feeling sick in my gut that maybe I’m right.
Colt considers the question, his face serious. “You know, maybe a little. I hate to lose. I’m terrible at it. But that’s not the only reason I’m here. I called you because I wanted to talk to you. That’s all.”
“Not because you were looking to get laid?”
“Well, I mean, if you’re offering…”
I stare at him blankly, letting him know he’s not funny.
He smiles anyway. “Nah, I didn’t think so. No, I didn’t call you here to try to get laid. There are easier ways, trust me. I came here with you because you’re difficult and for some reason that really does it for me.”
I should go. I should turn and leave this place and this boy because he’s trouble. He likes me because I’m a challenge, because I’m telling him no, and I’d judge the shit out of him for that if it didn’t make me a hypocrite. If I hadn’t said yes to coming here tonight partly because I wanted to tell him no. Because it’s a challenge to do it and I want to succeed. I want to win.
Because he’s not the only one who hates to lose.
The night is getting long, the morning closer with each step we take, and I need to go home soon.
But not yet.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
COLT
I’ve never let anyone drive my car before. I love my car. I cherish my car. My car and I are family. How I let her talk me into letting her drag race it, let alone drive it, is still a mystery to me. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure it out. It has a lot to do with her eyes and her lips, I’m pretty sure. They’re distracting.
“This is pointless!” I yell at her over the rev of the engine. “You’ll never beat my time.”
“Sexist!” she shouts. Her hand flexes on the gearshift. “Tell me when.”
I tap the timer on my phone, setting it into motion. “Go!”
Lilly drops the car into gear, lurching us forward. She’s smoother at shifting than I hoped. I was seriously worried she would leave my transmission on the pavement, but she bangs through the gears in fluid motion, one after the other. The hard rev of the engine fills the cab as she looks fiercely forward, her face serious and determined. There’s something sickeningly sexy about the way she looks driving my car like that. Like she wants to win.
She doesn’t stay long enough on the low end, though. I know halfway to the cone that she’s going to lose. And I haven’t even raced yet.
When we blow past the orange cone on the ground she lets off the gas. We slow down quickly as she makes a wide arc, bringing us back toward the parking space we’re using as a starting line.
“What was my time?” she asks breathlessly, her face lit with excitement.
I check my phone and wince. “Thirteen point three. Not bad. Not great.”
“What’s your best?”
“Eleven seven.”
“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it,” she mutters, pulling the car up to the line.
We both get unbuckled and jump out of the car, swapping seats. I hand her my phone before I get strapped in again.
“Are you ready for the best eleven seconds of your life?” I ask her.
She smiles. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“You’re welcome to time me on that too, if you want.”
“Let’s stick to drag racing, slick. See how that goes.”
“Are you ready?”
“Are you?”
I rev the engine hard. “I was born ready.”
“And cheesy,” she chuckles. She taps the phone. “Go!”
I’m flawless. I’m smooth as butter. I’m bouncing from first and into third, skipping gears to get that lower powerband. To grip the pavement hard and launch us toward the cone. This car can do zero to sixty in under three seconds. It has a roaring six hundred horse power under the hood and I’m tapping into every one of them as we fly past the cone. I cut it close, intentionally zinging it so that it flies up into the air just as Lilly taps the phone again.
I let off the gas the way she did, coasting the car into a normal speed. “What’s my time?”
“I don’t think this phone is accurate,” she stalls.
I laugh. “What does it say?”
“We should do it again. I timed it wrong.”
“Bullshit! What does it say?”
She turns the screen toward me grudgingly.
Eleven six.
“Fuck yeah!” I cry. “A new personal best.”
“I’m telling you, this thing is wrong.”
“Yeah, well, tell it to Apple ‘cause I’m keeping that number, thank you.” I take my phone from her hand and do a screen capture of the time. “That’s beautiful.”
“Colt, who is that?” Lilly asks anxiously, her hand coming down hard on my arm.
I slam on the breaks, screeching us to a halt. In the headlights is a figure.
Someone’s walking out of
the stadium. They’re buried in a big jacket, their stride long but unhurried. I’d recognize it and the lowered head of jet black hair anywhere.
I roll down my window a crack, cold air rushing inside. “Yo, Matthews!”
He looks at me vaguely. Uninterested. I roll the window down farther as he leisurely makes his way to my door.
“What’s up, man?” I ask him.
He juts his chin at me. “Hey. You’re here late. Doing some racing?”
“Yeah. We were in the stadium but she got cold so we came out here. Figured an empty parking lot was a good place to run the quarter mile.”
“I guess so.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You know we have practice in a few hours, right?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“I know. I’ll be there.”
“You’re gonna be tired,” he warns.
“So are you.”
He nods slowly, his eyes turning to his car.
“Did you meet Lilly at the party yesterday?” I ask him, gesturing to the passenger seat.
Lilly leans down to wave out my window at him. “Hi.”
“Kurtis. Hi,” he introduces himself blandly. “I wasn’t there. Are you a friend of Lexi’s?”
“No. I’m a baker. I made the cake.”
“Sorry I missed it.”
“She made the cookies I brought to practice today,” I tell him.
“Yesterday,” he corrects me.
I glance at the dash. It’s almost two. A wave of fatigue hits me like a freight train, like my body didn’t know how tired it was until the clock told it to be. “Shit, I guess that’s right.”
When I look back out the window Kurtis is walking away. “I’ll see you later, Colt. Try not to drive like such a bitch next race, alright?” He lifts a hand to Lilly. “Have a good night.”
“You too,” she calls after him.
We watch as he unlocks his old Bronco and climbs inside. It’s at least twenty years old, a sore thumb sticking out in the usual crowd of Lambos and Escalades that haven’t seen their first oil change. I asked him once why he still drives that old thing and he told me he likes it. No other explanation than that, because Kurtis Matthews doesn’t elaborate on anything. Ever.
