The Toughest Play

6. Autumn

CHAPTER 6

AUTUMN

“ Y ou can all get out of here. I’m gonna stay here for a bit and do some posting,” I shout to my crew, who all seem ready to leave.

Frankie bumps my fist on his way to being first across the field and out to the employee parking lot. “Sounds good, boss.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Lisa asks.

I smile at her willingness to lend a hand. “I’m positive. Get out of here.”

“Okay. Enjoy your night.” She turns, walking off after Frankie.

My head lowers as I focus on my phone screen. I create a few reels using footage from various parts of the day, and try to make sure I’m not painting Brett in an unfavorable light. But it’s difficult to find clips of him making completions. He really isn’t playing well, and if he doesn’t get his shit together, sooner or later everyone will notice. The local sportscasters are already talking about how his level of play has significantly dropped off while Rogan’s has leveled up.

By the time my head raises, there are only two players remaining on the field—Rogan and Cooper.

Opening the camera on my phone, I start recording as Cooper takes off down the field. Drawing his right arm back, Rogan launches the ball through the air in a beautiful spiral that culminates by dropping directly into the tight end’s arms. Cooper pumps his fist as he runs back to Rogan and hands the football back to him.

Rising to my feet, I tuck my phone in my pocket and step from the bleachers down to the edge of the field.

“Autumn,” Rogan calls.

When I look his way, I see the ball heading right for me. He probably expects me to jump away and scream with fear, but I don’t. Instead, I catch it in my arms.

Rogan shouts, “Yeah!,” while Cooper shoves his fingers between his lips, letting out a shrill whistle.

Rogan jogs over to me, grinning. “Damn, that was impressive.”

“Thanks.” I toss the ball to him.

“Where did you learn to catch like that?”

“You don’t want to know.” Not every part of my relationship with Brett was a waste. At least I can catch a football.

“Did he teach you to throw too?” he asks.

“He tried, but my hands are too small.”

“That’s bullshit. Position your fingers on the laces like this.” He gives me the ball, and I try to mimic what he did. “Your ring and pinky fingers should cross the laces but your fingertips will be resting on the ball itself.” He maneuvers each of my digits where they need to be. The contact makes my stomach flutter like some fangirl. It’s both annoying and disappointing that such a simple touch from him affects me so much. “Now, throw it to Cooper,” he instructs.

I snort, showing my doubt. “Sure.”

“Come on. You got this,” he says confidently.

What the hell. I draw my arm back, then propel the ball forward. Cooper takes a step forward, catching my short pass.

Rogan beams at me. “Great job.”

“Thanks, but it was only like ten feet.”

“We can work on getting you to throw farther if you want,” he offers.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll leave the throwing to the professionals.”

He gives me a conciliatory pat on the arm. “I mean, I get it. You’re intimidated.”

“No, I’m not,” I fire back, and he grins as if to say “gotcha.”

Dammit. Why did I let him bait me?

He raises his hand, and Cooper tosses the ball to him. “How about you give this one more try and we’ll see if you can get it to go a little farther?”

“Fine. Give me the ball,” I say.

“Not so fast. I’m gonna help you out first.” He hands the ball over. “Do you remember the correct grip?”

“Yep.” I situate my fingers.

He nods. “Good. Keep your other hand on the underside of the ball until you’re ready to make the throw.” He draws an imaginary line from the ground in front of me to Cooper, who’s waiting about twenty feet from us. “At the same time you step forward with your left foot, aiming your toes toward your target, you’ll release your hand from the underside of the ball and draw your arm back.” He raises his chin to me. “Show me.” I demonstrate the three things he mentioned. He steps in front of me, bending my elbow more before he raises it higher. “You want the ball to be slightly behind your head.”

“I’ve got it,” I snap, eager to get him out of my personal space.

He grins, as if he knows exactly how much he affects me. “Show us what you got.”

Cooper claps his hands together twice. “Right here, baby.”

Stepping with my left foot, I do everything Rogan instructed, but this time it happens at a much faster pace. When the ball launches from my hand, it has more power than my first throw did. However, it still falls a couple of feet short of Cooper, but he leaps forward, making a perfect catch.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Rogan shouts.

Cooper does a quick victory dance and then jogs over to high five me. “Nicely done,” he says, smiling.

“Thanks. A quarterback I’ll never be, but that went better than I expected.”

“You just need more practice,” Rogan tells me.

“I think I’ll settle for today’s success and call it a victory. Thanks for the help, but I better let you two get back to work.”

“We’re all finished,” Cooper says.

“Just the same, I’ve got to get going.” I glance between the two players. “Keep up the good work.”

Rogan grins. “That’s the plan.”

“Hell yeah,” Cooper adds.

I walk to the sideline and make my way from the practice field to my car in the parking lot. Slipping behind the wheel, I turn the key in the ignition but my vehicle doesn’t start. “Come on.” I try again, but it makes an ungodly sound. Groaning, I drop my forehead to the steering wheel.

A knock on the window interrupts my pity party and I turn to find Rogan standing there. I pop the hood and open the door.

“Everything all right?” he asks.

“No, my car won’t start.”

“Let me see if I can help,” he says, opening the hood. “Try starting it again.” I turn the key, and it makes the same horrible noise as before. “Hold up,” he calls out, shutting the hood. “It sounds like your starter is bad.”

“How can you tell?”

“That whirring sound it’s making.”

I sigh. “That’s just freaking perfect.”

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he says.

“But I can’t leave my car here.”

He pulls out his phone and dials a number. “Hey, Chip, it’s Rogan.” I hear a voice but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “Yeah, I’ve got a car that needs some work. It’s in the lot at the practice field and needs to be towed. Sounds like the starter to me.” He listens some more. “Thanks, man. Call me when it’s ready.” He ends the call. “I have a buddy who’s a mechanic, and he’s gonna have your car towed to his garage.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

I follow him to a black Jeep and he opens the passenger door for me. “Thanks,” I say, climbing up onto the leather seat. I pull the door closed as he makes his way around to the driver’s side.

“Where to?” he asks, starting the engine and I give him my address.

He drives from the parking lot, and I cast a final glance at my old but usually dependable sedan. I hope the repairs won’t be too expensive. I haven’t been at my new job long enough to receive the first paycheck. It would’ve been nice if I could’ve gotten ahead a bit before being hit with an unexpected bill. But I’m thankful I at least have room on my credit card, and that’ll have to do for now.

“Are you from this area?” Rogan asks.

“No, I’m originally from Rhode Island but I went to college in Delaware.”

“Isn’t that where Brett went too?”

“Yeah, we met there.”

“So you followed him here?”

“Don’t make me sound like a stalker. We were in a relationship and he asked me to come.”

“How long did you two date?”

“Five years.”

“Damn. That’s a long time. I bet it felt longer,” he says, laughing.

“Sometimes it did, but we had a lot of good times too.”

“Why’d you break up if things were so wonderful?”

I really don’t want to explain why. Will he use that information against me somehow?

“You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”

“He cheated on me,” I blurt out.

He shakes his head. “Wow. What a fuckhead.”

His reaction elicits a snort from me before I add, “With a model.”

“I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.”

“Oh? Why’s that? Because I don’t starve myself?” I jump to ask.

He turns his head, and his deep-blue eyes connect with mine before they return to the road. “No, because he’s an asshole in general, so why would he appreciate having a beautiful girlfriend?”

Beautiful? Now I feel bad for snapping at him.

“I’m sorry if I bit your head off.” I release a frustrated sigh. “I shouldn’t still be sensitive about what happened but being cheated on sucks. Especially when that person is a famous freaking model.”

“Yeah, I can see how it would.”

I roll my eyes. “I bet you’ve never been cheated on.”

“No, I haven’t, but I also have never had a serious relationship.”

“Oh boy,” I say.

“What?”

“You’re a walking red flag.”

“Yeah, but I’m made in the USA, baby. Built with the highest quality material.” He tosses a quick wink my way, but I don’t react. “You’re a little grumpy, huh?” he presses.

“I prefer to think of it as reserved. If I laugh at your joke, you’ve earned it.”

“I guess I better try harder, then.”

I throw my hands up. “In no way was that meant as a personal challenge.”

“So you say now,” he teases.

“I’m serious,” I insist.

“So you don’t like having any attention on you?”

“Not really. I prefer to stay in the background. Really, I like to remain behind my computer screen. If my job didn’t require me leaving my office, I probably wouldn’t.”

“Does that mean you don’t go out very often when you’re not working?”

“No, I’m just particular about who I devote my free time to.” He doesn’t need to know Scarlett is my only friend.

“How would someone go about earning the pleasure of your company?” His deep voice has my toes curling in my sneakers. I’m just glad he can’t tell.

“They’d have to make me want to spend time with them.”

“That doesn’t sound too daunting.” His lips tease at a smile.

“Don’t be so sure about that.”

“I guess I’ll have to find a way to pique your interest.”

You already have. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to get distracted by a pretty face—or a tight set of buns, or dimples, or broad shoulders. Okay, that’s enough. I’m supposed to be talking myself away from the ledge, not giving myself more reasons to make the jump.

“I think you should keep your focus on the field. You’re doing really well.”

“Thanks, but I have the bandwidth for both,” he states confidently.

My stomach gives a little anxious flip. What if he means what he’s saying? What if he tries to wear me down? Most likely he’ll tire of the chase rather quickly, like most guys do. Why would he want to put in all kinds of effort with me when he can snap his fingers and get female company elsewhere?

“Do you have any siblings?” he asks.

“Nope. I’m an only child.”

“So that’s why you don’t feel the need to be around others. You’re not used to it,” he offers.

“Maybe I just don’t like other people.”

“I bet you’ll like me if you give me a chance.” His dimple pops in and out as he fights a smile.

I pluck at a loose thread on the outside of my front pocket. “Making bets you have no chance of winning is never a good idea.”

He chuckles. “I make it a habit to win at everything I do. I might have to warm the bench for a couple of seasons, but eventually, I get what I want. Mind over matter works every single time.”

“Maybe you’re not as likable as you seem to think you are,” I suggest.

“You’re kind of brutal, but it works for you. All that grumpy tension under those sexy curves.” He flicks a flirty side-eye my way. “I like it.”

Sexy curves? He must mean my stomach roll that’s hanging over my waistband.

Feeling self-conscious, I cross my arms over my mid-section and stare out the windshield.