Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)(44)
“Shut up,” Trey muttered, gripping Michael’s forearm hard and staring at the field. “I’ve got a feeling.”
Knowing Trey as well as he did, Michael sharply looked toward the field. They watched as the clock counted down on Seattle’s time, the call, the hike, and Stephen Harrison busting through the offense to sack the unsuspecting quarterback.
“Ouch,” Trey muttered while Michael let out a massive whoop.
“Shut up. There’s no crying over spilled quarterbacks,” he said with a grin, slapping Trey’s shoulder as the special team ran out to receive the punt. “That could be you next down, so don’t feel too sympathetic.”
“If I get sacked, it’s because they made it through you,” Trey shot back, glaring at him as he put his helmet on.
“So be nice to me,” Michael suggested, his grin growing as the whistle blew and they jogged out for their first play of the game.
Kat wriggled in her seat as the offensive team—was that what they were called?—took the field. She knew Trey Owens was number sixteen; you had to live under a rock to miss that. But it occurred to her at that moment she had no clue which number Michael was.
She leaned over to ask Aileen quietly, when the redheaded woman turned and said, “Sixty-one.”
Kat blinked. “What?”
“Michael is number sixty-one. Find Trey, and Michael is right in front of him.” Aileen smiled and bumped her shoulder lightly. “You seemed a bit lost.”
“More than a bit. I’m not really a ‘team sport’ kinda gal, you know.” Kat watched as the team lined up in some sort of formation and then crouched down low. “Oh my…”
“Exactly.” Aileen grinned and rubbed her hands together. “Believe me, this lifestyle comes with some perks, and the uniforms are just one part of it.”
Kat watched with curiosity as the offense bent into a forward crouch. Though from her angle she couldn’t see him well, she picked out Michael and trained her eyes on him. The ball was between his hands on the ground in front of him, and then suddenly it was gone, and he crashed into the defender coming directly at him.
Kat winced and sucked in a breath through her teeth at the sound, the assumed pain and feel of two bodies that size knocking together with such force.
“Yes, it hurts, and no, they don’t notice it until later. Usually after the game. Adrenaline makes a hell of a painkiller.”
Kat just nodded, absorbing Aileen’s words without taking her eyes off Michael. Get up, please get up without a limp or a broken anything.
But he popped up off the turf as if he’d simply fallen off a bicycle instead of having a massively bone-crushing experience—that he was about to repeat in thirty seconds.
“Why do men do this?” she wondered out loud. “It’s completely confusing to me.”
A woman Kat estimated to be in her early thirties turned around and gave her a confused glare, part Why are you here? part You’re crazy, now shut up. Someone didn’t take to someone else criticizing her husband/boyfriend/special someone’s way of life very well.
“They swear it’s an adrenaline rush. Frankly, I get that from eating a pint of Rocky Road in one sitting, but nobody asked me.” Aileen laughed as they set up for the next play. “Okay, watch as they… Oh there it is. Trey audibled based on something Michael called out. So now they’re shifting for the snap. Watch. Michael has fantastic hands.”
Kat caught herself just before murmuring, “I know.” The ball whizzed out of Michael’s hands and directly into Trey’s open palms, and Kat let out a quick sigh of relief before sucking in her breath at the body-jarring tackle Michael put together for the guy rushing Trey. The two bodies fell in a tangle, and Kat’s hands hurt from clutching the armrest of the stadium chair so hard. When he didn’t pop up like he had on the last play, she felt her palms start to sweat.
Get up, get up. Don’t be hurt. Come on, Michael…
“Hey, it’s all right. Calm down.” Aileen rubbed her forearm gently. “He’s fine. Look, they’re just tangled up. He’s not down for the count or anything serious.”
Kat counted anyway, each second that Michael didn’t get up seeming to take a year off her life. There was some pushing and shoving of upright players while Michael and the Seahawks player disengaged their legs from each other, appearing to fight about a flag that was thrown on the play. Then he finally—finally—stood on his own two feet, one of the other offensive linemen helping him up. He shook his limbs out before rolling his shoulders and walking to the new line of scrimmage.
“They got the first down,” Aileen said.
Kat then realized she hadn’t even been watching the ball or any other action on the field since the moment Michael stepped onto the green and white turf. Oh God, she had it so bad.
“I… have to go to the restroom.” She stood, feeling sweat accumulate on her upper lip. Aileen reached for her, but she shrugged. “Just gonna go before the lines get long at the end of the period.”
“Quarter,” Aileen corrected quietly. “Do you want me to show you where they are?”
“No, I’m good. Really, I am. I just need a second.” Kat hurried up the stairs, not looking behind to see if Aileen followed. For someone who understood the thrill of competition, the physical labor involved in a sport… The brutality of the game had taken her by surprise. She’d thought she would be impressed, even interested in the way Michael played.