Page 6 of Catch
“You’re going to be the big spoon in any relationship. Even if you start dating guys.”
I scowled. “Not going to happen.” I knew from the time I was little that I liked girls. Hayley even knew and in middle school when our hormones kicked in, we had a list of the girls I wanted as girlfriends and a list of boys she wanted as boyfriends. Our listsnever crossed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t ready when you got here. Thank you for getting me out of my funk,” I said.
Hayley locked her arm with mine. “That’s what best friends are for. Funk busters.”
I laughed because it was such a corny thing to say. “I love you. Let’s go have some fun.”
“Oh, you mean like win homecoming queen? Yeah, I’m down for that.”
* * *
It took every ounce of my being not to tug at my dress. I could see the slight curve of my breasts. Even though it didn’t show much, I still taped it down because the last thing I needed was for my boobs to spring free under the spotlight. Max stood next to me on stage and lifted my hand as we accepted our fate as homecoming king and queen.
“Thank you, Oak Grove!” Max pointed to his crown, then to mine. He bowed deeply to me. “And thank you, homecoming queen Sutton McCoy! Not only did we win tonight, but look at you, sis. Damn.” He turned back to the crowd and pointed at me. “This is our quarterback!” The crowd whistled and hooted.
I blushed under the heavy, bright lights that illuminated us on the pop-up stage. Max led me down the stairs for the obligatory dance. He was still taller so even though he wasn’t as smooth slow dancing, it was nice that I had to look up at him.
“I’m glad you won.” Max was my favorite player on the team. I felt like we would stay friends long after high school was over.
“I’m glad I won, too.” He laughed and twirled me. “Can you imagine me here with Avon?”
“Absolutely not.” Max was dating Becca, a freshman in college, who refused to attend any high school functions. I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t want to be here either.
“Thank God you got the votes. Here’s to the football team crushing everything,” he said.
When the dance ended, he hugged me and whispered, “It’s nice to see you smile and have fun again.”
I hugged him. “Thanks, Max, for being a good friend, especially during the breakup.”
He sighed. “That was brutal. And don’t even get me started on that douchebag she’s dating. Too bad I’m not on defense. I’d break his leg.” His words were harsh, but they made me smile. Max had my back on the field and off.
“First loves. Ugh. Am I right?” If I didn’t joke about it, I’d cry and Hayley would hate it if I ruined her stellar makeup job.
“Well, she’s missing out because you’re on fire and one day she’s going to regret hurting you,” he said.
Chapter Four—When Past and Present Collide
Present
I’d spent the morning looking at films of players out on the field still trying to make our roster. Pre-season started in a few weeks and we were going to have to seriously slash names off the list. Players weren’t exactly fighting to play for us, but the ones here had fire and something to prove. I liked being the underdog team because there was only one way to go.
“Well, what do we think?” Bill asked as he surveyed the players running routes, tackling blocking bags, and zigzagging through cone shuffle sprints. It looked completely chaotic to the untrained eye, but there was organization at each station.
Grayson meshed well with the team. He had stayed in shape because the Canadian Football League showed interest in him, but we nabbed him instead.
Jamal walked up before I could answer. “You know, Grayson shows a lot of promise. He’s patient, sets up in the pocket, and looks for what he can out on the field. I have a good feeling about this season,” Jamal said.
“I think he’s going to surprise everyone,” I said and meant it.
“We’re a young team but we have a lot of talent. And the players have a healthy respect for Moats so we just might win a game or two,” Jamal said.
My phone buzzed. I was scheduled to meet with the media in ten minutes. It was the first time I was talking to the press sincebecoming offensive coordinator. Terry wanted every journalist to be frothing at the mouth to get to me so he kept me quiet to build the suspense. He gave plenty of interviews about me but never put me in front of the microphones.
The Cheetahs’ media liaison spent an hour earlier this morning reviewing every question with me that could come up in the press conference. I was nervous because today’s interview wasn’t about me, it was going to be about the scandal. Sure, they would start off asking me generic, expectant questions like how do you like the job? And then the more personal questions like why you? Did other coaches within the organization want the job? But then they would inevitably ask me about my thoughts on the previous coach. The plan was to redirect attention to me, the first female offensive coordinator in the NFL picked to carry a new team to the playoffs, and not the sex offender whose downfall was still tarnishing the team.
I excused myself when my phone rang. “McCoy.” I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hey, babe. Good luck today.” It was my girlfriend, Lexi, who had moved with me to Connecticut not because we were serious, but because nothing was keeping her in Minnesota.
