Fraternize

  After the commercial break, artist Zane Andrews joined the field to sing the national anthem. It kicked ass, though I wouldn’t admit to anyone that I actually liked the guy. He was too pretty for any male to ever acknowledge as being talented.

  He finished to fireworks and F-16s flying over the field.

  The applause was deafening.

  A zap of adrenaline trickled down my spine. My nerves were nonexistent; if anything, I felt like I needed to run out onto the field and do a few laps before the game even started.

  Our team won the coin flip and chose to return the ball first.

  I put on my helmet, said a little prayer, thanking my mom for putting me in football to keep me out of trouble, and glanced across the field to Em.

  She pulled out a necklace and kissed it then winked.

  It had been a tradition before every game.

  Warmth spread through my chest, mixing with the adrenaline, giving me a spike of energy as I did a few jumps in the air to keep my legs warm.

  Things clicked into place.

  My adrenaline focused into the right muscles, and my brain went on lockdown.

  We were going to win.

  Or die trying.

  Special teams dominated a thirty-yard run, and it was time, time to take the field.

  I inhaled a few times, sucking in the air between my teeth before exhaling and running out to the huddle.

  Jax slammed his hands together. “Mellow Yellow, option two!”

  Crazy freak named plays after soda.

  At least it confused people.

  As least he hadn’t called Double Mountain Dew. That involved a hell of a lot of speed on my part, not that I wasn’t good for it. I just didn’t want it to be my first play in the first game.

  “Hike!”

  Sanchez ran a slant to the right, while I charged toward the defensive player who thought it was a good idea to try to blitz my quarterback. I took him down and turned around just in time to see Jax shake his head at Sanchez and then lock eyes with me.

  Well shit. Double Mountain Dew, here I come.

  I ran like hell as Jax threw a thirty-yarder. It sailed right into my hands. Sanchez knocked over the guy headed for me, and my old teammate made a choking noise.

  Touchdown.

  “That’s right!” Sanchez roared. “Buck you!”

  We jumped into the air and bumped chests while Jax ran toward us.

  My heart was pounding so fast that it was hard to think straight. I hadn’t been expecting Jax to trust me that much, being a new player to his team.

  If Sanchez wasn’t open or his other favorite wide receiver, Brandon, he typically ran it himself to get the first down.

  “Good job, man.” Jax slapped me on the back. “You hit your defender so hard that he fell ass-backward.”

  “Yeah well, I wanted to make a point.” I shrugged.

  “Instead you made six,” Sanchez laughed.

  “Let’s make that seven,” Jax yelled as our kicker, Jason Mills, walked out with a smug grin. The dude had been in the league for fifteen years and was still one of the highest paid kickers.

  “One job,” Sanchez muttered under his breath. “The dude has one job. Better make that point.”

  I shrugged. “He’ll get it.”

  “He better.” Sanchez rubbed his hands together. “Because while we were puking our guts out during training camp, he was hunting.”

  “Hunting?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  The commercial break ended.

  And the rest of the game felt like a blur. Between my touchdown and then Sanchez and his one-handed catch that ended up making it look like he had magic gloves, it was a complete blowout.

  Three touchdowns.

  Two interceptions.

  Sanchez was responsible for one of the three touchdowns after Jax threw a ball that should have been nearly impossible to catch; Sanchez decided he was going to try anyway.

  I couldn’t stop grinning as the game ended, and reporters flooded the field.

  Sanchez groaned next to me.

  “Part of the job,” I said under my breath. “Besides, we won.”

  “Yeah, alright.” He nodded and tensed as the first reporter ran up to him and grinned. She stood a little closer to him than necessary, and when she asked him questions, I could have sworn she touched his shoulder a few times. He kept backing away from her, which seemed strange since it was typically too loud to hear on the field, meaning you had to lean in.

  He gave me an indifferent look and then glanced back where Em was standing with Kinsey. They were distracted for now, but still.

  Jacki Jones wasn’t my favorite correspondent—she thought she was God’s gift to football for one, and second, she was notorious for using the sport as a personal platform to thrust herself into the spotlight.

  She threw her head back and laughed, then touched Sanchez’s forearm. He looked ready to strangle her.

  I interrupted their interview.

  I’d never done that before in my life.

  “Oh, Miller Quinton! I’m so glad you came over here. How did it feel to get that first touchdown for your new team?”

  “Probably about as good as it feels to touch Grant Sanchez’s shoulder, am I right?” I was teasing, kind of.

  Her eyes narrowed before she made a point to slowly pull her hand away from Sanchez. “We go way back, isn’t that right?”

  “How about that one-handed catch?” I nodded while Sanchez scooted toward me, his face pensive.

  “Absolutely amazing!” Laughing, she faced the camera and then me. “Well, it looks like you two are working well together. You know it was rumored that there was a bit of bad blood between you two, how’s that affecting your relationship on the field?”

  “Rumors made up by power hungry social climbers.” Sanchez wrapped a sweaty arm around me. “We’re bros, that’s all there is to it.”

  “So the move was good for you, Quinton, despite the fact that the Bucks didn’t pick you first in the draft last year?” She shoved the microphone in my face. She left out the fact that I’d let them know I didn’t want that team to begin with, but I bit my tongue.

  “Best decision of my life,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “But it wasn’t really your decision.” She laughed again. The hell it was. But that wasn’t her business.

  I wanted to break the microphone in two.

  Sanchez squeezed my body so hard I thought he was going to break me in half, and then he shrugged. “I think Coach is calling for us. A pleasure as always, Jacki.” His tone was so mocking you’d have to be an idiot not to get the point that he had no respect for the woman.

  He pulled me away before I could say something stupid.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. “And here I thought you were the one that was going to mouth off during an interview.”

  “Hah.” He shoved me away from him and shrugged. “Just because I’m an aggressive asshole on the field—who may or may not threaten to screw players’ moms to get in their heads—does not mean I can’t be a gentleman during an interview, but when it comes to Jacki, let’s just say there’s a history there. After our relationship ended, she had no problem hitting on every other Buck team member and ever since she got a job with ESPN, she’s been even a bigger pain in my ass. Good ol’ Jacki Jones.” He shook his head. “Just say no, man. No good can come from a woman whose smile looks that frozen.”

  I laughed as I followed him back toward the locker rooms. We both shook hands with the other team, I pulled my old teammates into giant bear hugs and laughed when they gave me shit for going to the dark side, even though we all knew I didn’t have a choice. That was the great thing about football—for the most part we left everything on the field and were able to joke around once the clock ran out. Guys who didn’t know how to do that never lasted long. And I was lucky that both teams I’d played for understood that concept.

  “Shit.” Sanchez swore. “Be right back, Thomas is getting ou
t of control.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Thomas shove one of the Pilots’ backup quarterbacks, Jason Agrasi—the guy hadn’t even played! I followed Sanchez, only to be stopped dead in my tracks when my eyes fell to Em.

  She was walking in our direction. Across the field. Time stood still.

  Sanchez shoved Thomas away from Jason then turned to her and crooked his finger.

  She nervously chewed her lower lip before skipping toward him.

  He lifted her into the air and slammed a kiss over her mouth, and a few cameras went off. Jacki Jones stopped dead in her tracks, her face twisted into an angry snarl before she stomped off.

  I was a bit nervous about how people would react to a player dating a cheerleader, but nobody seemed to think anything of Sanchez gripping her ass and trying to see how long he could kiss her before she passed out from asphyxiation.

  Jealousy attached itself to my legs like weights as I started walking past them.

  And then Emerson’s voice stopped me.

  “Miller!” I got tackled from behind.

  My body reacted so violently that I had to take a minute to rein it in before turning around in her arms and returning her bear hug.

  “You killed it!” She pulled away and held up her hand for a high five.

  “Oh, so you’re doing high fives now?”

  “Very funny.” She waved it in my face. “Don’t leave me hanging, yo.”

  I groaned. “Em, I can say yo. You can’t.”

  “What? Why?”

  I hit her hand and then gripped her shoulders. “You’re too white to say yo. It would be like you trying to say homie.”

  “Yo, homie.” The way she said it was so white I cringed.

  “Never again,” came Sanchez’s voice. “Curves, just stick with amazing.”

  I burst out laughing. “Or awesome.”

  “So. Awesome,” Sanchez said with a peppy voice. “OMG, Miller. Did you see that guy’s ass? It was so—”

  “Awesome.” I sighed and batted my eyelashes.

  “You guys suck!” Emerson stuck her hands on her hips, jutting them out, drawing my eyes, his, and, no doubt, anyone else’s who could see. “And I really don’t say amazing and awesome that much.”

  “Sure, little cheer girl, sure.” Sanchez nodded smugly.

  She glared.

  “Celebrate with me tonight?” he countered.

  She crossed her arms. “Maybe.”

  “That’s a yes,” he said confidently, nodding his head toward the locker rooms. “I’ll text you later.”

  “’Kay.” She grinned.

  My gaze lingered on that smile a bit too long.

  “Good job, guys.” Her voice cracked a bit.

  I stared at her mouth.

  She licked her lips and quickly averted her eyes.

  And when I turned around, it was to see Sanchez staring at me, not her, first with anger and then confusion.

  “Sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. Sorry? Old habits die hard? I still want her?

  “There isn’t anything to be sorry for . . .” He shrugged. “Yet.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I jerked him back by his soaked Under Armour shirt.

  He hung his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  But I did.

  Because he was my friend.

  And I felt like a dick that he had to even have that type of conversation with me, the whole stay-away-from-my-girl talk.

  God, I was such a bastard.

  “We good?” I forced him to look at me.

  “Yeah, man.” His eyes searched mine. “We are.”

  “Cool.”

  We walked in silence until Jax squeezed between us, putting an arm on each of our shoulders. “Is it just me, or is Jacki super handsy this year?”

  “YES!” I shouted. “Thank you! She was all over Sanchez.”

  “She’s always all over Sanchez.” Jax shuddered. “Ever since the whole cheating scandal and broken engagement.”

  Sanchez groaned. “Really man?”

  “It was her?” I was too stunned to say anything more. “Jacki Jones is the woman scorned?”

  “Drop it,” Sanchez said in a warning voice. “It’s old news . . . besides, now I just feel dirty when she looks at me.” His tone changed to teasing.

  “Used,” Jax added.

  “Slutty?” I offered.

  “Speak for yourself, Miller.” Sanchez coughed out a laugh. “I think Jax is saving himself for someone special.”

  “I’m ignoring you.” Jax didn’t even seem fazed. “Just like you ignore all the girls you sleep with when they complain after five seconds of nothing.”

  “Five seconds?” I whistled.

  Sanchez gave Jax a little shove. “Best five seconds of their lives!”

  When we walked into the locker room, the rest of our team was bouncing off the walls with nervous energy—the energy that came after the first win of the season and the realization that we had giant targets on our backs now that we’d set the tone for the rest of the year.

  “Hey.” Sanchez elbowed me. “Can I ask you for a solid?”

  “What’s up?” I started taking off my gear.

  “Do you have Emerson’s address?”

  I froze, my shoulder pads somewhere near the top of my forehead. “Uh . . .”

  “You have it, right?” He leaned in closer. “Come on, man. Don’t be a cockblock. It’s not like that. I want to surprise her.”

  “Dude, you got her a car.”

  “On loan,” he argued. “Come on, what’s the big deal?”

  The big deal was that I didn’t want him making fun of her. I didn’t want him seeing where she lived, and I didn’t want him in her life—in mine.

  And I had no choice.

  Then again, if he rejected her based on her address, he didn’t deserve her in the first place.

  “I’ll text it to you.” I tossed down my shoulder pads and clenched my fists. “Now, go shower. You smell like shit.”

  “Stop smelling me, Miller.” He grinned and walked off in that cocky way he always did, gaining high fives from most of the team before doing a little striptease in the middle of the floor and tossing his shirt into the air.

  I rolled my eyes.

  He was impossible not to like.

  With shaking fingers, I texted him the directions to her apartment. And then texted her for her apartment number.

  She answered right away with the number and a question mark.

  Me: Not telling.

  Emerson: I HATE SECRETS!

  Me: Stop yelling at me!

  Emerson: WHY DO YOU NEED MY ADDRESS?

  Me: I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.

  Emerson: I HATE it when you’re calm.

  Me: yawns

  “Hey!” Sanchez looked over my shoulder. I jerked away so hard that I nearly stumbled backward over my chair. “You text it to me?”

  I held my phone in the air, not showing him the screen. “Just did.”

  “Cool.” He nodded. “Thanks, man.”

  “You still haven’t showered,” I pointed out.

  “Dude . . .” He was shirtless, pointing to his body. “I was letting everyone look their fill before I soaped up.”

  I tugged off my own shirt and looked down. “Huh, imagine that. Another eight-pack. Color me not impressed.”

  “You need to work out your sex muscles.”

  “Stop staring at his sex muscles, man.” Jax swatted Sanchez with a towel and then flung it back, causing a whip motion.

  Sanchez turned around so fast that I almost missed him grabbing the towel from Jax’s hands and twisting. “You better run!”

  “Sanchez!” Jax shouted.

  And I was left alone. With the phone burning in my hand, and the lie bitter on my tongue.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  EMERSON

  I’d wanted to tell Sanchez no.

  I was exhausted, and I knew he had to be ex
hausted too, and yet, he wouldn’t stop texting me about all the partying we were going to do.

  And with those texts, pictures of movies and food . . .

  The guy had enough energy and adrenaline for an entire football team, maybe that was why he was one of the captains.

  Watching him on the field was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I remembered all of the cheers and felt like my performance had been good, but honestly, my focus hadn’t been on the cheers or crowd pleasing. It had been on him.

  Sanchez.

  The way he commanded the field.

  The way he and Miller seemed to read each other’s mind.

  I’d always watched Miller play, even when I hated him, I’d watched. He was cold, calculating.

  And Sanchez . . .

  He was like a football professor out there—light on his feet, cracking jokes. When they’d been near our side of the field, the big screen had caught him grinning at the guy trying to block him and mouthing, Watch this. Only to outrun the defensive player, jump over another, and run into the end zone for a touchdown.

  I’d about died when he took a bow in front of the goalpost, and Jax snapped a pretend picture while Miller jumped into the air and slammed his hand across his back.

  Football.

  God, I forgot how much I loved football.

  My stomach clenched. Dad and I had watched all the games together. He’d loved college ball and I’d loved watching professional football. We’d always get into arguments about the purity of the sport. But since his decline, he’d been doing more sleeping than watching.

  I shook it off.

  Because today, regardless of my reality, was a really good day.

  And an awesome game.

  Ugh, maybe I did say awesome too much.

  I wasn’t sure if it was that I was finally cheering for the Bucks, or that Miller was out there, or that maybe, just maybe . . . things were starting to feel better.

  When I thought of the past, it was painful, and it upset me, but I found myself more often thinking about the future.

  And weirdly enough, it was Sanchez’s face that I saw in that future, which scared me to death because it had always been Miller, even when I hated him, it had been Miller.

  And now. Now I was confused. And tired.

  And apparently being forced to hang out with the one guy I was having a hell of a time saying no to.