Page 4 of Illegal Formation
Her ink-black hair was slicked into a high bun, the baby hairs around the crown of her heart-shaped face swirled into intricate patterns. Piercings lined both of her ears, and one glistened on the left side of her nose, too. Those along with the tattoos that sprawled her brown skin set her apart from every other person trying out for the team, and I found myself wanting to investigate every single line of ink that jutted out from under her sports bra, and the tiny Spandex shorts she wore along with it.
She was petite, lean and athletic, and she exuded strength with every move she made. She looked like she could dance a full routine, do twelve back flips, and then kick my ass, too, if she wanted.
Her lips were a dusty rose, thick and full and tilted at the side with a cocky smirk, and her dark brown eyes were framed by thick lash extensions and jewels that sparkled in the stadium light.
Ethereal, that’s what she was.
Otherworldly.
I blinked when her first sneaker hit the turf, clearing my throat and standing a bit taller. Her eyes flicked to me as if she noticed my adjustment, and I swore I saw her smirk climb higher on those gorgeous lips of hers before she was blasting a smile at Claire Woodrow — the director.
I couldn’t believe I was even here. Sure, I’d told Miss Woodrow to let me know if there was anything I could ever do to help out with her and her team, but I’d made that comment more as a passing kindness than a genuine offer.
Of course, Miss Woodrow probably knew that — which was why she’d looked like she was having a lot of fun when she told me that, in fact, therewassomething I could do.
I could attend the final auditions and hand out roses to the girls who make the team.
And now, here I was.
It was the offseason, a time I relish not only for the much-needed rest and recovery that my body craved, but for the time I could spend with my family. Of course, I also took every spare moment I could find to work on the goals I had forafterfootball.
Because we all knew that day would come, whether it be from injury, age, poor performance, or just a contract ending without another offer on the table. And while many of my teammates were content to party and blow their wads living it up in the NFL, I had other priorities.
I had a sister to care for, parents to support, more lives than just my own to think about.
So, the last place I wanted to be on a cool, crisp April night was at the stadium that already owned my ass for most of the year — especially considering I wasn’t even running drills or doing something to improve my game.
No, I was handing out fucking flowers.
It didn’t feel like such an imposition now that I got to gaze at Emily Huxley, though. Hell, maybe she was the silver lining of tonight.
I watched as she shook Claire’s hand, thanking her director for the opportunity before she paused and took a photo for the cameraman positioned in front of them. She ran down the line of judges next, thanking each of them as the drum line played in the background.
And then, she was walking toward me.
I was one of five players who was voluntoldto be here for tonight’s final cheerleading team announcement, and we were trading off who gave a rose to each of the new squad members.
I just so happened to be the one giving Emily hers.
Smoothing my left hand over my tie, I stepped forward, offering her the neon-green rose. I had no idea if they grew them this way or if they were painted or what, because half of us had green roses and the other half had navy blue ones — the colors of our team.
“Congratulations,” I said, extending my right hand with the strange-looking flower. And fuck if I didn’t lose my breath a little when she was close enough for me to see her better.
This girl was a fucking bombshell — there was no other way to describe her.
“Why, thank you, good sir,” she said with a fake accent and a curtsy.
Emily arched a thick, black brow as she took the rose. She assessed it, and then me, taking her sweet time as if she didn’t have a team of cheerleaders waiting for her to join them, or a director ready to call the next name. Her eyes ran down the length of me, her lips curling a bit more with every inch she surveyed.
“So,” she said, eyes popping back up to mine. “Does this mean I get a date?”
I sputtered, eyes flicking to Miss Woodrow who was glaring at both of us. Claire Woodrow was the ex-wife of our team’s ex-owner, and she scared me more than Coach Palmer most days — hence why I didn’t fight back when she told me I’d be here tonight. I was especially aware of her now, hoping she didn’t overhear Emily, even if it was a joke.
I was surviving on my rookie contract for the next three seasons, but I still had a lot to prove — namely that I was worth more than what they paid me the first time around.
I was ready to do anything and everything to secure a renewal and a future for my family.
Breaking the one rule they had for us when it came to the cheerleaders was not the way to do that.
