Page 21 of Playing to Win
“Hey!” We all turn to see Ace standing in the middle of the field, his hands cupped around his mouth. “We’re ready for you if you want to start filming.”
“Go ahead.” Gwen waves her hand toward the field. “I’ll let you film first.”
Great. This feels like a trial by fire. And she’s mad at me because I admitted she’s terrifying. Probably didn’t like the flirting part either, that’s why she brought it up. I signed the contract, meaning I have to abide by the rules.
No flirting with Ace Townsend allowed.
I go to Eric, fighting the panic growing inside me. “Gwen wants me to film.”
“You’ve got this.” The sincere glow in his eyes isn’t reassuring.
“What do you want me to do?”
“You and Gwen discussed it earlier. Just—go with what she said.” Eric shrugs.
The earlier discussion was Gwen telling me what she wanted to do for the season. There are a lot of accounts out there right now that really interact with the players. Introducing them, letting the casual viewer know who they are and what position they play. These accounts manage to show them at their best—and their silliest. Sometimes even their worst, which is always good for a laugh, but never at their expense.
Gwen wants to do something like that for the football team. She even wants them to mouth along with trending songs, maybe even do a dance here and there.Something lighthearted and fun, were her exact words earlier.
Meaning the complete opposite of Gwen’s behavior. Got it.
An irritated sound leaves me as I march out onto the field toward Ace, hating the butterflies that flap in my stomach at seeing that shit-eating grin on his face while he watches me approach. Am I wrong that it feels like he loves seeing my discomfort? It’s annoying. He’s annoying.
Though I can’t deny just how gorgeous he is. Because he so is.
Gorgeous.
Ugh. No. Football players are a no-go.
“Ready to film us, Maguire?” His teasing tone on anyone else I would think is cute, but on him, I sort of want to sock him in the gut. This has me thinking about his stomach and how ripped I’m sure it is and how my hand would probably ache after trying to punch him and now I can’t stop thinking about it.
“Not quite yet,” I say, keeping my voice cool. Downright blasé. He doesn’t affect me. I can’t let him get to me. “I need to look up a few things first.”
He rests his hands on his hips, glancing around. Feels like every member of the football team is out on the field and they’re all circling us like a pack of wolves, curious to what’s going to happen next. “Well, hurry up. We can only give you a few minutes before we need to get back to it.”
“I thought you were going to be supportive.”
“And I thought you had your shit together.” He grins, and while I’m stewing in anger over his remark, clearly, he’s just teasing me. “Take a couple minutes, babe. However long you need. We’ll be here making plays and securing wins.”
“Did you really just call me babe?” I roll my eyes, opening my camera on my phone and switching it to video. “I’m ready.”
He’d already started walking away from me and he comes to a stop, slowly turning to face me once more. “Really?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Are you?”
“You want to filmme?” He glances around as if he’s shocked.
“I want you to make a pass, yep.” I hold my phone in front of me as if I’m ready to start recording him. “Let’s do this.”
“Hold on, hold on.” He jogs over to a couple of his teammates, their heads bent close as he discusses something with them. They all clap once at the same time and get into position just as I do the same, glancing around to make sure no one is going to run into me. “Ready, Maguire?”
I hate how he calls me by my last name, but it’s better than hearing him say my actual name with that sexy rumble of his, so I’ll deal. “Give it to me.” I give him a thumbs-up.
Ace gets into position with the offensive line and when the ball is hiked to him, he stands there like the quintessential quarterback god, his arm cocked back, squinting into the sun, his eyes shifting as he figures out who’s the best one to throw to. And when he does finally throw that ball, it goes long, a perfect spiral arcing through the air.
I capture it all with my phone, every single second and when the ball lands into a receiver’s open hands, the player tucks the ball to his chest and runs it into the end zone. Ace throws his arms above his head. “Nice one!”
“Perfect throw,” his teammate yells back at him.
