Blind Side(47)

So I dug in deeper, harder, my thighs and calves screaming in protest as I gave it everything I had.

Then, out of nowhere, one of our defensive linemen hopped up from where he’d been pushed back into our zone, and he tipped the ball.

It wobbled, spinning off target, and without hesitation, I leapt into the air and snagged it before the offense could even realize what was happening.

The roar of the crowd assaulted me as I landed, spinning just in time to avoid a tackle, and sprinting the opposite way down the field. My lungs were on fire, ribs aching, but I kept on, glancing behind me to find the opposite team on my tail.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Riley’s distinct voice pierced through the noise, and I pushed harder, glancing up to see the clock was about to run out.

And it did.

Right as I crossed over into the end zone.

“TOUCHDOWN REBELS!” the announcer bellowed, and our home team went absolutely insane as I puffed my chest and threw the ball into the stands. I was bombarded by my teammates in the next breath, my helmet being smacked hard enough to concuss me as they hyped me up. Then, before we could get in trouble from the coach or the officials for too much celebrating, we all jogged toward the sideline, only to be encompassed by reporters.

It was madness, and I fielded through each question that was thrown at me until I couldn’t take anymore. It was my fucking birthday, and I didn’t want to spend all of it answering the same shit over and over, but I also didn’t want to be a pain in Giana’s ass. So, I politely answered and then politely excused myself and made my way into the locker room.

“Way to end the game, you showboating sonofabitch,” Holden said when I dipped inside. He grinned, smacking me with the end of his jersey before he threw it in the dirty laundry basket. “We still would have won if you would have just run out the clock.”

I crossed my feet and did a little spin, plucking my jersey off my shoulders. “Yeah, but that wouldn’t be as fun to watch on the highlight reels later, would it?”

Holden shook his head, but his smile was wide, hair matted to his forehead after a grueling game. It was at least starting to cool off finally, fall taking over the northeast like it always did this time of year.

“Clay,” Leo said, nodding at me as he rounded into the locker room and set his helmet on the bench. “You have a visitor.”

He nodded toward the hallway, and a grin split my face as I jogged out, ready to wrap Giana in a sweaty hug whether she wanted one or not. I hadn’t seen her outside of us both working at the stadium since last week, me caught up in practice, and her with the upcoming auction.

And every minute since that night, her little whimpers of pleasure were about the only fucking thing I could think of.

It had been so much more than I expected, than I could have ever imagined, stripping her, touching her, tasting her. I knew she’d asked me to be her first, but I hadn’t realized that meant her first everything. The girl hadn’t even had an orgasm.

Until me.

It was fucking stupid how much that lit me up with pride, how much it made the beast inside me walk with a little more swagger in its step.

It was also fucking stupid how much I had thought about her since.

Every morning I woke up to a text from her — either a simple good morning or, more commonly, a random question about sex or how to turn a guy on.

We need to revisit the balls conversation. I want training on how to handle them.

Do guys like red lipstick, or is it just a messy inconvenience?

Tell the truth: do my skirts make me look cute or hot? Because I’m aiming for hot.

When’s our next lesson?

Of course, those questions turned into us texting all day, sneaking a minute together whenever we could at the stadium. And every chance I could, I was pulling her in for a kiss.

Even when Maliyah wasn’t around.

I told myself it was because it would make it all seem more real. It would convince Maliyah that I wasn’t just doing it for show. It’ll get back to her, I assured my whirring brain, it’ll really make her want you back.

Those words played on repeat.

That didn’t explain why I’d snuck a couple of Giana’s books out under my shirt when I’d popped by to bring her dinner in the middle of the week. She’d quickly kicked me out since she was studying for a test. But I took those books and did a little studying of my own.

I memorized what pages she’d dog-eared, or highlighted, which ones had the distinct oil from her fingertips being on them more frequently than others.

And what I found surprised me.

I was eager to test the theories I’d come up with the next time we were alone, and to tease her a little — which was quickly becoming my favorite pastime.

I slung into the hallway, ready to fire off some smartass remark about holding the press when I came face to face with Cory Vail.

My smile dissolved like salt in hot water.

“My boy,” he said, smile wide as he held his arms open for a hug. He didn’t wait for me to slide into them. Instead, he wrapped me up in a bear hug, clapping me hard on the shoulder as he released me.

I stood there in shock, taking in the father of my ex-girlfriend who had always felt like a father to me, too. He was beaming with pride, his eyes the same brown as Maliyah’s. He was as tall as I was, but thicker, like a tree stump of a man. He was dressed to the nines as he always was, from his well-tailored, navy blue suit and silver cufflinks, to the Prada dress shoes on his feet.