Page 31 of First Down Promise

Josh crosses his arms and flexes his biceps. “You get to do that next week. Pete said you’re coming to the Wisconsin game. I would have given him shit if you weren’t, by the way,” he says with a smirk. What I’d give to have him push me up against this wall and finally kiss me…

“Yeah, looking forward to it. Um, you should probably get back before someone sees you talking to a peasant.” I force a weak smile, but he frowns like he did after halftime.

“You’re not. You’re…you’re one of us,” he stammers.

I squint at him, and my fake eyelashes poke into the delicate skin at the corners of my eyes. “It doesn’t feel that way. See you later, Josh.”

I turn back to the locker room, ripping the damn things off my eyelids and disposing of them in a trash can. My nose starts doing that burning thing it likes to do when emotions rise. We’re responsible for dry cleaning our uniforms, so I throw my oversized zip-up hoodie on over it, slip on some pool slides, and grab my bag before a full meltdown ensues.

“Are you okay?” Sadie asks.

“Yeah. Just want to get out of here,” I answer, pulling out my keys and pushing through the locker room door again without any other goodbyes.

By the time I reach my car, most of the stadium traffic has already cleared out, and I slam my car door. The emotions finally pour out. Carina. The way Josh looked at me. The squad’s attitude. I press my forehead into my steering wheel, smearing foundation on the leather, and makeup-stained tears drip onto my thigh. How am I going to make it through a full season doing this?

I typically beat Pete home by hours after home games, and my stomach is practically eating itself after the long day at the facility. Dropping my bag by the door, I order a late dinner delivery as I make my way upstairs, desperate to scrub off the makeup, sweat, and glitter. These days, the glitter stays on despite how many showers I take. By the time the glitter is finally gone, it’s time for another home game. And my hair is always crunchy and tangled from the infinite layers of hairspray holding my heat-styled curls in place.

It’s all so damn uncomfortable, and the time couldn’t be better for an away game.

Chapter Twelve

Josh

“You look like a douche,” I tease Pete on the way to the stadium in Milwaukee.

“Yeah, Kenzie? Better than looking like a hobo,” he quips and adjusts his necktie.

I knot my fingers together in the fleece kangaroo pocket on the front of my sweatshirt. “I’ll take my sweatsuit over that any day,” I reply.

“Would you two shut up?” Dane interjects.

“Why’s no one commenting on my flannel? It’s new,” Coop adds.

These game day ‘fits’ are getting out of control across the whole damn league. Pete always makes it on social media for his custom, tailored suits, while Dane prefers a simple black suit. All of his look the same, but I know he has about ten suits in his closet. Meanwhile, Coop and I keep shit simple like the good country boys we are.

Pete presses his index and middle fingers into his temple. “Oh my God,” he groans. “It’s custom Tom Ford, by the way.”

“Big fucking deal,” I say.

“Guys, do we have to be dicks right now?” Dane asks. “You know we’re disadvantaged being the visiting team.”

“We know you guys love each other, so kiss and make up now,” Coop says. Pete scowls at him, and I press my lips together to hold back a laugh. Pete and I always make up in the end, no matter how much we piss each other off.

Pete’s phone dings from where it rests on his thigh. He lifts it and scans the screen. “Ab just landed,” he says absentmindedly, typing something back to her before laughing under his breath. My heart does something weird at the news she’s in the same state as us again. Skip a beat? Is that a real thing? It can’t be medically plausible. “She’s already excited about wings and true Wisconsin blue cheese.” I suck in a breath as my chest tightens because I could absolutely picture her licking buffalo sauce and blue cheese dressing off her fingers.

I’m such a fucking goner.

“Sounds like your dad raised her right,” Dane says.

Pete shakes his head. “Nah, it was Mom. She was all about the game-day spread. One year when Wisconsin made the Championship, she made these square-shaped sugar cookies and decorated them to look like stadiums. She used those colorful ball-shaped sprinkles to represent people in the stands. Abby tried to recreate them last year when we made playoffs, but it didn’t really go well.”

I smile to myself as I distinctly remember walking into Pete’s house to find Abby struggling with a piping bag full of green icing that oozed everywhere and tiny sprinkles scattered across Pete’s kitchen counter. According to her, sugar cookie decorating is a lot harder than it looks, and I said something like football is that way too. I’m pretty sure she replied that baking is harder.

She couldn’t have been cuter. She was always cute. I just wouldn’t let myself be honest about it. I force out my breath, and Dane gives me a side-eye.

“Forget how to breathe?” he asks, low enough only I hear.

“Actually, yes,” I answer.