Kicked (31 page)

I clapped my hand over his mouth. “Are you trying to jinx it?”

He shook my hand off and stared at our offense. “He needs to get the play off.”

“He’s got time.” My hands were sweaty as Trent ran down the line and changed the play.

“Play clock is down to seven. Game clock only has twenty-nine.”

“Shh.”

Trent yelled for the ball, and the play went into motion. Trent tried to hand the ball off, but the runner bobbled it. Trent yanked it back before a defender creamed the runner. He ran toward the end zone, got a couple of good blocks, and stretched for the touchdown right as a defender threw a shoulder into him. It was a hard hit, and I heard the crack of contact.

I gasped and ran down the sideline. He hit the ground, and the ball rolled from his grip. One of the defenders tried to pick it up and run with it, but the refs whistled the play dead. Trent had been down at the two-yard line when the ball came out, and video replay confirmed it. He didn’t get up, just flopped onto his back, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

The trainers ran out to him. I only stayed on the sideline because Hawthorne held my elbow.

“He’s okay. He’ll be okay.” I didn’t know if I was reassuring myself or Hawthorne. Probably myself.

When Trent sat up, the stadium went wild, and when he rose and trotted to the sideline, there seemed to be a collective sigh of relief.

Coach yelled to the offensive line coach. “Call time!”

I dodged through the players and ran to his side.

“What is it?” Coach Sterling bent his head to hear the trainer’s answer, his face darkening at each word.

“We have no damn depth at quarterback.” Coach glanced at Green, the second-stringer, and shook his head. “He’s not ready.”

“Trent?” I scooted around to face him.

“It’s my shoulder. They think it’s dislocated or something worse. Right arm.” He winced as a trainer pressed on his shoulder blade.

“He’s out.” The trainer didn’t even flinch when Coach let loose a stream of invective that would have killed a nun.

“What about Green?” Trent shot the kid a look. I’d seen him in action. He wasn’t ready. Great potential, but his mechanics needed work.

An idea started rolling around in my mind—it was foolish, over-the-top, and definitely not well thought out.

“Green’s all we got.” Coach Sterling spit on the turf. “We’re about to shit the bed in the playoffs.”

“I can play.” Trent pushed the trainer away who was feeling on his arm.

“Yeah?” Coach poked him in the shoulder, and Trent winced. “That’s what I thought. I’m not having a first round draft pick ruin his arm on this game. It’s Green.” He turned and yelled to the offensive coach. “Call time again.”

“One left, Coach.”

“I know that, goddammit! Call the next one, too!”

“Put me in, Coach. I’m ready to play.” I blinked. “Should I have sung that?”

“What are you on about, Baxter?”

“Trent can’t play, Green will lose the game, but I can win it.”

“We need more than three points, Baxter. Three points will land us in overtime with a quarterback who can’t play!” He turned to walk toward Green, who still sat on the bench with a dazed expression.

“Wait! Not three. Six!”

“Six?” Coach whirled.

“Six.” I stared up at him. “Put me in. They’ll think we’re trying to tie it for overtime. It’ll be a fake. I’ll run it to the end zone. Just give me the chance.”

“That’s crazy.” The crafty glint in his eye undermined his words. Then he shrugged and waved the idea away as if it were a troublesome fly. “Besides, Trent can’t even hold the ball.”

“No, she’s right.” Excitement lit Trent’s voice. “Listen, Coach. We always practice the fake where I throw the ball over my left shoulder. I can do that fine. Nothing wrong with my left arm.” He clapped me on the back. “And I put way more faith in Cordy than Green.”

The offensive coach called for our last time-out.

“That’s gutsy as hell.” Coach scratched his forehead and looked from me to Green and back again. “A gutsy move. You got the balls for this, Baxter?”

“I was born with them, Coach. They just haven’t dropped yet.”

He laughed, the insanity of my plan likely fueling the chuckles more than my joke. He sobered and considered me one more time.

I pulled my helmet on. “Trust me. I can do this. The play I’ll make out of this will replace that ‘Kick Six of the Century’ on every highlight reel.”

“Time’s up, Coach!” We were out of time-outs.

Coach put his hands on his hips. “Well, hell. Get out there. Let’s see what we can do.”

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I cut through the line of players and ran onto the field with my kicking team.

“You got this,” Trent said. “Just follow the plan. Make it look natural. Take your steps like usual. They won’t know what hit them until you shove it down their throat in the end zone.” He knelt as our teammates lined up on the two-yard line, right hash. I’d have to get to the corner and cut around to the end zone while taking care not to step out of bounds.

“I got this.” I squashed the memory of the Kick Six and focused on the play clock ticking away.

My team depended on me, and I refused to let them down like I had at the start of the season. My head and my heart were in the game. With Trent holding for me, I couldn’t lose. I took a deep breath and ran onto the field. The crowd quieted, or maybe I just shut them out. I ran the play in my mind over and over again.

The defensive line was set, and my teammates lined up in front of me. It was go time.

Marking off my steps, I did my usual set up. I stopped and lined up, then motioned for the hike. As soon as Trent signaled, I set the play in motion by running to the left. He tossed the ball, and it slid into my hands. Tucking it under my arm, I pumped my legs as fast as I could. Trent jumped up, sprinted, and threw a hard block that gave me a little room on the outside. I darted to the edge and sensed grasping fingers as the defenders tried to hem me in. I was so close when I felt a hand on the back of my jersey.

Time stood still, the crowd went silent, and all I saw was the white line that separates the winners from the losers. I stretched my arms out, holding the ball ahead of me, and dove for the end zone.

EPILOGUE

C
ORDY

T
HE SMELL OF FRESHLY
mowed grass and dirt filled my nose as I stared out at our home field. The stands were overflowing with fans for our season opener against the Lions. Billy the Bobcat did pushups in our end zone, and the hum of excitement energized everyone on the field.

“Coin toss, captain.” Hawthorne elbowed me. I, along with two other team captains, ran out and did the honors.

Running back, I spotted something that made my heart skip a beat. I veered off toward the right where all the visitors stood with their special bright blue lanyards. Trent didn’t need one, of course. Everyone recognized him. He was the starting quarterback for the Bucks, one of the top professional teams in the country.

His team was based in New York, but he would fly his mom, my dad, and me to his games. After Christmas, his mom had taken a new approach with me. When she told me that my relationship with Trent reminded her of how she and his father had been in their early days, I knew we’d turned a corner. Things had thawed between us, and our relationship had become so warm that even Trent was amazed. Our little cobbled-together family was new, but didn’t lack in the love department.

“Hey, kicker.” He gazed down at me and smiled.

“Hey, QB.” I stood next to him as we got ready for kickoff.

“I miss this.”

“You do this every Sunday.”

“Not with you.”

“I like to do other things with you.” I shot him a smirk.

“Do you have any idea how hot you look with eye black on? Have I ever mentioned that?”

“Just a few hundred times.”

He smacked my ass and yelled “good game” as if that somehow covered it.

I laughed and leaned into his arm. He was dressed in a nice button-down and jeans. It was odd that I was dressed out and ready to play while he had to stay on the sideline. I, of course, took the opportunity to rib him about it.

“You’ll be riding the pine for the whole game. Are you okay with that?”

“I could try for another year of eligibility if you want me back.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that would be a wise choice on my part.” I whistled. “Our new quarterback was a five-star recruit.”

He puffed out his chest a little. “So was I.”

“Well, he’s really tall.”

He stood straighter. “So am I.”

“He doesn’t hog the shower in the women’s locker room.”

He glared down at me. “Cordy.”

“Kidding. Well, not really. He doesn’t hog it because he’s not in there.”

“Better not be.”

I bumped my hip into Trent’s. “I’m going to be pretty sweaty after this game.”

“Yeah?” He licked his lips.

“I’ll certainly need a shower.”

“I agree.”

“Maybe you could come help me soap up. You know, for old time’s sake?”

He grinned. “Oh, I’m certain I can manage that.” Looking me over, he stopped at my hands. “I thought you were going to wear it?”

“I am wearing it.”

I reached inside my jersey and pulled on the chain around my neck. My ring popped out, and I held it up to him. The Billingsley B was imprinted on the top, and “National Champions” flowed down each side.

“Where’s yours?”

He waggled his fingers, the matching ring flashing in the lights.

“When is kickoff?” I frowned and stared down the field, wondering why the kicking team was still on the sidelines.

“I think you need a new ring.”

I smirked. “I’ll get one at the end of this season.”

Since when did the stadium get so quiet?

“I was thinking one with less gold and more diamonds.”

I turned to him slowly and only then realized our image was on the huge screens above each end zone. When I looked back, he was on one knee, holding up a ring with the largest diamond I’d ever seen.

My knees turned to jelly, and I was struggling to stay conscious.

“Cordelia Elaine Baxter, will you marry me?” His eyes swam with emotion.

I put a shaking hand to my face. “Oh my God.”

He smiled. “Can I take that as a yes? My heart’s kind of on the line here. More importantly, we’re delaying kickoff, and the team—”

I bowled him over, and we landed in a heap on the turf. I kissed him as he wrapped his arms around me. The stadium erupted around us as we made out on national TV.

“Yes…yes…yes.” I said between lip locks.

He laughed and sat up, then took my hand and slid the ring on. The crowd ramped up again as he pulled me to my feet.

“Look.” He turned me around and pointed out his mom, my dad, Landon, and Ellie in the stands right behind us. My dad grinned like a madman and tried to hug Trent’s mom. The attempt was comical and ended in a half-hug truce.

“I love you.” It was all I could think or say as I met his eyes again.

He picked me up and twirled me, my head going foggy as he kissed me. “I love you too.”

Tears blurred in my eyes as he set me down and gave me one more long kiss.

Our kickoff team ran out on the field, and Hawthorne shot me a thumbs up as he dashed past.

Trent grinned, his handsome face alight with joy. “Now give it back. I’ll hold it while you go out there and kick some ass.”

Acknowledgements

I watch football. A lot of football. I roll with the Tide every season. Before starting this book, I researched the hell out of the mechanics of kicking field goals. I watched footage of amazing college and NFL kickers. I did my homework and relived the terrible Kick Six of Alabama’s 2013 season. I felt up our football and slept with it (ok, maybe I didn’t sleep with it … but all the rest is true).

Despite my in-depth research of men in tight pants with balls, Mr. Aaron read my draft and marked all the football sections with a red pen. So, I tweaked, and re-arranged, and changed yardages, and redid whatever he said didn’t seem quite realistic. Mr. Aaron knows, because he played football. Don’t tell anyone, but his nickname during his football days was Quiet Storm, and he was the best damn linebacker, like, ever. {{I just asked him who the greatest linebacker of all time is, and he said “Dick ButtKiss.” I laughed. Then I realized he was serious. Then I looked it up, and it’s actually “Dick Butkus.”
Awkward
.}} Point is, Mr. Aaron knows the game. He even tells the TV announcers the correct rules before they get told in their earpieces. Vern and Gary have nothing on Mr. Aaron (if you get that ref, you are a fan and I salute you).

So, my number one thank-you goes to Mr. Aaron for setting me straight on “real” college football. He made the football parts of this book as realistic as possible while I made the sexy parts as hot as possible, as I tend to do.

Also, thanks to the tip of the spear—Rachel and Viv. Y’all are always the first ones in, and your feedback is invaluable. Neda, thanks as always, for keeping my promo going while I’m in my writing cave or adding more filth to my Tumblr. Trish Mint gave me some excellent beta input. Keep it #Mint, my dear. Next, a big high-five goes out to everyone in the Acquisitions. You ladies (and a few gents) are fabulous readers, and I can always count on your support.

My next book, Tempting Eden, is a modern reimagining of
Jane Eyre
. It’s slated for release in late September. I’ve included the first chapter for you to get an idea of just how modern it is, and I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

xoxo,

Celia

CHAPTER ONE