Page 16 of First Down Promise

Josh chuckles. “Fun being a girl, right?”

“Totally…”

“How are you liking the squad?”

I shrug and reach into my bag for a lip balm. “Only one girl likes me. Sadie. The rest are a little standoffish.”

“They’re jealous. It’s obvious who you are, and I’m sure they saw Coop hug you at halftime. They can’t have team connections, but you do,” Josh says. I glance over to his side of the cab, and for a split second, I catch him staring at me before he directs his attention back to the road.

“Yeah, the rules are pretty rigid about players and cheerleaders interacting. I was shocked Coop approached me.” I pause. The rules are in place for a reason, but I don’t know the full story. Just that supposedly a cheerleader got in trouble for dating a player once, and the player didn’t. “I hope I don’t smell like Coop,” I say to lighten the mood.

“I have some cologne in my bag if you need some, but I think you’re fine.”

What’s worse—walking into a bar smelling like Coop’s BO or Josh’s cologne?

“Thanks, but Sadie let me borrow her body spray.” I keep my eyes low as I dig through my bag for a hair tie. I finally grasp the elastic, desperate to get these matted curls off my shoulders.

“You should find out what she uses. Smells good on you,” he quietly replies. His forearm rests on the center console. My fingers twitch, wanting to tangle with his, but I stare out of my window instead. Josh clears his throat. “Almost there.”

“Um, how did I not know you guys do this?”

“I don’t know. We’ve done this for years.”

The difference is that I’ve seen what goes into a game. When I attended as just Pete’s sister, I would go home afterward and not think much of him getting in late.

“Do you guys get drunk? I mean, Pete usually drives.”

“No, just a couple of beers. We usually order some appetizers too.” His thumb taps against the steering wheel before he glances over at me. “How was your first game? You know, cheering and all?”

“Oh, it was fine, I guess.” I rub my forearms and bite my lower lip. “It was weird not being in the crowd with the fans. Some of my favorite memories of Pete playing for you guys come from being part of the Stallions Stampede. Not even in the skyboxes. Just being with everyone who loves you guys as much as I do…” I suck in a breath at what I admitted, but Josh laughs through his nose.

“The Stampede loves you, too. You’re like the people’s princess of Nashville.”

“Hardly,” I mumble as he parks next to Pete’s G-Wagon. I glance around and recognize Coop’s diesel truck and Dane’s Range Rover next to each other, one row over. “I didn’t know this was a bar.”

Josh unbuckles his seatbelt. “Exactly.” His brow furrows as he twists in his seat to face me. “Before we go in, what was Thomas bugging you about?”

“Oh, he was hitting on me. Pulled the old ‘what are you doing later’ line on me,” I answer.

“If anyone does that again, point them in my direction or Dane’s, okay? Don’t be afraid to use your brother’s name either. I know Pete casts a big shadow, but you can’t be afraid to step on toes, Abby,” Josh says. “Remember that with the squad, too. You’re a fucking Wilson.” It hardly means anything because that’s Pete’s identity, and I’d give anything to be a Mackenzie instead.

“Thanks.” I grip the door handle to open my door. “Can we go in?”

“Yeah.”

I follow Josh’s lead through a heavy wooden door and into the bar. The lighting is warm, and it has an overall country aesthetic that doesn’t surprise me, given its location. Music to match plays in the background, but it’s the right volume not to interrupt conversations. A bartender waves at Josh, and he waves back.

“We usually get a booth toward the back,” he says to me.

I continue following Josh through the mostly empty bar that smells like beer and peanuts until I spot Pete, Dane, and Coop seated in a circular booth, laughing with half-full beer glasses in front of them. Old Tennessee license plates cover the wall behind their booth, and they light up when they spot Josh. But when I make eye contact with Pete, his face falls, eyes flickering between Josh and me.

“Hey, guys,” Coop greets.

They scoot over in the booth to make room for us. Josh takes the end opposite me, next to Pete, and I slide in beside Coop. Dane, the observer, sits in the middle and tops his glass off with the pitcher on the table.

“What kept you, man?” Pete asks Josh.

“Had to get checked out. No broken ribs this time,” Josh replies.