Page 9 of Pack End Game

That manages to bring a real smile out of him. "That's Captain Quarterback to you, Zak."

"If I have to call you Captain Quarterback, you can refer to me as my title, too." I quirk my eyebrows at him, daring him to devolve into a brief moment of juvenile humor together.

"No one likes a tease, Tight End." Spencer grabs the water bottle from my hand and swipes a long drink as I try not to stare at the column of his throat while he swallows. He hands the water bottle back to me and heads for the door, where our last couple of teammates are trickling out.

At the door, he pauses and looks back to find me watching his every move like a hawk. We're the last two in the locker room.

"If we win," he says, his voice turning velvety smooth and sweet like honey, "I already know how I'd like to celebrate later." He winks and slips out the door before I can respond.

"Game time," I murmur with a smug grin. I push my locker door shut, the sound echoing sharply in the empty locker room, and break into a jog to follow the quarterback out.

Spencer just gave me one hell of a reason to play my ass off tonight.

Chapter Four

Mia

"Whattookyousolong?" Milo asks in a rushed, single breath. He flashes a laminated press pass at the security guard before thrusting it out for me to take. "The Sloths are already leaving the field."

I wheeze my way past the guard, who looks nervous that I might keel over and die on his watch. That makes two of us, buddy. My body was built for dancing on tables after one too many martinis on a night out, not for sprinting multiple city blocks.

"I got here as fast as I could," I pant out as I hurry to Milo's side.

He looks down at my outfit and frowns, deep wrinkles settling in around his mouth. He's going to worry himself into having a stroke if he doesn't learn some deep breathing exercises, stat.

"This is a long story," I tell him, gesturing to my ridiculous outfit. "No time to explain. Show me to my camera!"

The last time I videoed anything was in high school broadcasting a decade ago, so I can only hope the skill is like riding a bike and is going to come back to me the moment the camera hits my hands. Broadcasting was never my passion, but Milo convinced me to join the program sophomore year when he set his sights on a career in sports broadcasting after being cut from the soccer team.

Over those three years of high school, I got pretty good at recording all kinds of athletic events despite having no knowledge of sports.

As I follow Milo through a long stretch of concrete hallway, I'm aware that this is the closest I've ever gotten to paying any attention to the local football team. The only thing I know about them is the name of their mascot, and that's only because Simon the Sloth is a real cutie on social media. Though I'm not sure the team should trust whoever made the decision that a sloth would be the right animal to try to rally sports fans around.

Hopefully, the Sloths move a little faster than their namesake. Otherwise, filming the second half of this game could be an agonizingly slow experience.

"The good news is no one will be paying any attention to us on the sidelines," Milo mutters.

"Huh?" I tilt my head at him, confused until I realize he's looking at my outfit again. "Oh, right."

"At least you like the pants I got you," he teases seconds before we burst free from the hall and step onto a turf field.

The noise of the crowd distracts me. Looking up in awe at the nearly packed stands, I can't pretend this is even remotely similar to filming a high school game. My previous confidence about offering my brother a superhero-level save is quickly dissipating. In my panic to get here, I didn't have time to think about how high-stakes this could be.

My brother works for one of the most popular local news stations, and unlike me, the rest of the city is absolutely enamored with the Sloths. Sooo many people are going to be tuned in for the halftime update that Milo is due to give any second now.

"Focus, Mia!" Milo grabs me by the arm and drags me along the sidelines until we reach an area crowded with people wearing badges that match ours. He stops next to a man wearing a suit tailored far too well for him to fit in with the other camera guys. My brother tells him, "Thanks, Earl," as he takes the camera from him. "Lunch is on me next week."

Milo turns with the camera in tow, and I release an "oomph" as he shoves the heavy piece of equipment into my gut.

He points to his earpiece. "Thirty seconds."

With fumbling fingers, I do my best to familiarize myself with the basics of the camera as quickly as possible. Thirty seconds isn't even remotely enough time to feel confident that I won't mess this up for Milo–and an entire city's worth of sports fans–but here goes nothing.

Milo launches into his half-time update for the news station, and I focus on keeping the camera as steady as possible. There's definitely a chill in the air, so I'm grateful for my stolen coat's warmth, otherwise I would be shivering my way through Milo's reporting.

Midway through his update, a bunch of uniformed men come running out onto the field from a different tunnel than the one Milo led me in through. Half-time must be drawing to a close. Even from this distance, I can tell some of the men on the home team must be incredibly attractive. The tight pants really do something for me.

I swear, male athletes are always perfectly dressed for the female gaze.