Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(2)

When they take the field, I realize the player that was staring at me is the quarterback. That much I understand. There's a quarterback, who receives the ball from the man in front of him and commands the field by calling the play and either running or throwing the ball.

I jump when they play starts. I was barely paying attention, but now I watch intently, dread coiling in my stomach as gargantuan Honey Badgers surge toward the quarterback.

He throws the ball, and I snap my head around to follow it.

Wait, where did it go?

He still has it!

The quarterback weaves through the opposing line, breaking out into the open as the other players swarm another player, who feigns catching the ball. The quarterback runs two-thirds of the remaining distance all in one go, surging down the field so fast I can barely keep track of him.

It's all over in about fifteen seconds. I bob in my seat and clap as Dee cheers beside me. The shouts and cries of joy and yells of encouragement all around me sweep me up in their tide, and I call out and whistle through my fingers.

"What's his name?" I bellow at Dee, over the roar.

"Jason," Dee shouts back. "Jason Powell."

"Jason," I yell at the top of my lungs, and then, "Woooo!"

I couldn't think of anything else.

Standing on the field, he pulls off his helmet and looks right at me again, as if he heard my voice amid all the others. I snap back down into my seat and fold my arms, trying to disappear. I didn't seem to get anyone else's attention.

He's still looking at me. I can't shake the feeling that he saw me.

I should be panicking, but he's so handsome. The swelling in my chest fades when he covers his face with that cumbersome helmet.

The players line up, and the Knights crunch through the Honey Badger defense and shove their ball into the end zone.

I leap to my feet and cry out.

It wasn't the quarterback, Jason, who carried the ball into the end zone, but he ends up there anyway, celebrating with his teammates, but briefly. They are only tied now.

As he runs to the sidelines and rips off his helmet, he looks up again, scanning the crowd, before he looks straight at me. Again.

My eyes snap away. I can't have him recognizing me.



Jason



It's her. She called my name.

She called my name.

I never expected to see the princess at the football stadium. Yet there she is in a sea of people watching the game, though she got good seats, close to the fifty yard line. I've seen her around campus, but I would never in a million years think I would spot her up there, watching me.

One person out of thousands shouldn't be so easy to spot, but it's like she's the only one with any color to her in a drab world, a single flower painted in watercolors against a gray sketch. Even with her hood up, I can see unruly strands of platinum-blonde hair. I swear she looks right at me with her mismatched eyes, one blue and green, and it's like a spark between us. A static shock, a rope around my chest tugging me a step toward her.

Fuck, I have to play football.

I turn away from her and get my head back in the game. This isn't going well. I'm tired and battered and so is the rest of my team. It's a drizzly, dreary day, and the grass is slippery under my feet. My jersey is soaked and weighing me down, and it feels like I've been rolling around in mud all afternoon, which I suppose I have. The field is getting torn up.

I call the play and the snap comes. I throw but the ball is wet and tumbles badly. Izzy, my wide receiver, makes the catch but is immediately tackled, gaining us only a few yards. He takes a bone-crunching hit and I watch with dread, expecting to see him injured and out of the game, but he gets up and brushes himself off.

For some reason, no one seems to be feeling it today. The mist drizzle into a light rain as the next play starts, and I start to shiver under my pads. I try to warm up, but the cold sinks into my bones. Before the setup, I find myself watching the princess again.

I whack my own helmet with the side of my hand, trying to knock her out of my head. The Honey Badgers are trying to kill me. That's what it feels like, anyway. One more hit and they might just rip my arms off. I feel like I got in a fistfight with a freight train and he called in his buddies for help.

We can't even make a first down. The ball stops in the middle of the field and we end up punting. I retire to the sidelines while the Badgers try to ram the ball in our end zone. Somebody, somewhere, is laughing at the way we describe these things.

When Ransom Kaye takes the field with his offensive line, he looks at me and smirks.

Rage heats my veins like iron wires pulled through my muscles. I want to run out there, rip his helmet off, and bash him to death with it. After what he did, the simple fact that he walks around a free man is insult to the very concept of justice. I hope our line breaks his damn legs.

Somehow I look past him and lose track of the game. The princess is watching intently. She must not know much about football—Dee is bouncing in her seat and gesturing as she explains it all to her while they share a pile of nachos dripping with cheese. I swear she sees me looking and our eyes lock for a moment again before she turns away.

She's so damned pretty. Her features are somehow sharp and soft at the same time, her eyes large and liquid. The faint pink tinge in her cheeks from the unseasonable chill makes her even cuter. Her eyes find me again, and she turns to talk to Dee. Are they talking about me?