Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,51

going all night just cause you nut in three minutes.”

“It’s not about the time, baby.” Ray thrust his hips. “It’s about the ride. I buck my woman like a rodeo stallion.”

“What? Done in eight seconds?”

The team laughed, but I set up for the next pass. Last thing I needed was my wife sticking up for me. I gritted my teeth.

Jack slapped his hand on the ball. “If you miss this one, Charming, you owe us a steak dinner.”

Jesus. How could these fuckers think of food now? I’d blown three hundred dollars in donuts for them this week, but in this heat, constantly running these goddamned drills, I was lucky to have eaten at all. Nothing tasted better than pride, but mine went rancid too quick.

Elle aimed the camera. “Okay, never mind the epic catch. Just nab one, and I’ll make sure you look good.”

Jesus Christ. Now she was patronizing me? What the hell was going on?

Since when couldn’t I run a goddamned route?

I’d been playing football since I fit into pee-wee shoulder pads. All-fucking-state in high-school. Offered a free ride to any college I wanted. I had a Heisman Trophy proudly displayed in my mother’s house.

So why the fuck did my hands turn to bricks? My legs didn’t communicate with my head, my brain fogged on the damn play, and the pressure beat on me harder than the burning sun.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

I was Lachlan Charming Reed, first-round draft choice. Not some charity case running bullshit drills and failing in front of the entire team.

The whistle blew. I burst into the route. Fifteen yards down. Count from the snap. Hook back.

The ball bounced away before I even turned.

I checked the yardage. Damn it.

I ran eighteen yards. Two extra steps.

My timing was off, and I fucked it up.

“That’s some magic fucking pussy, Elle…” Ray shook his head. “You’ve ruined him.”

She sighed. “Don’t get superstitious now. Remember two years ago? When no one wanted to change their practice socks cause we were on a streak?” She gagged. “We needed real voodoo to clear the smell out of the locker room.”

Ray snickered. “You’re right. Let’s run it again. Throw you down the field. He might be able to hit that.”

“Darn.” Elle snapped her fingers. “And here I didn’t pack my pads.”

“At least you’ve got some underwear on today.”

I set for the ball, but my back stiffened. I stepped towards Ray. “Leave her alone.”

Ray grinned. “Uh-oh. DH is jealous. You get her all night, Charming. Leave us our locker room memories.”

“I said shut it.”

Jack called me to the line. “Let’s go, rookie. We just gotta count together. That’s all.”

“I got it.”

“It’s all right,” Jack said, his voice a little too calming. “These plays take some practice to get right, but we’ll keep working.”

“I said I got it.”

Elle took another picture. I regretted giving her the camera. “One catch, Lachlan. Easy peasy.”

Something snapped in me. I gritted my teeth.

“Yeah? You think? Maybe I could catch the fucking ball if I didn’t have someone in my face flashing a damn camera while I’m trying to learn the play?”

Even the coach’s whistle trilled into silence. The team stiffened.

Shit.

Did I say it out loud?

Jack ducked his head low, murmuring under his breath. “Take it back. Take it back. Take it back.”

Elle’s hand fit snuggly on her hip, cocked just like her eyebrow.

“Do realize that once you’re playing this game for real, there’s going to be a couple million people watching you through all those cameras.”

“No shit.”

“Fine. You want me gone?” She shoved her camera in the bag. “I’m not wasting my time on a tight-end in name only.”

She demonstrated the insult with a slap to her own ass and stalked away. The guys hissed through their teeth—that universal sound of you done fucked up. Jack clapped my shoulder.

“One crisis at a time, lover boy. First you catch this ball, then you hand her yours.”

Christ, he was right, but I couldn’t do shit about it now.

It had been two weeks since our not-so-lazy river ride. Two weeks since we whispered promising words and held each other close. But the camp got busy, and the coach’s demands a little too heavy.

I hadn’t been a decent husband. Hell, I hadn’t even seen Elle outside training camp. After the increasingly bad practices and a tweaked hamstring that slowed me half-a-step, we hadn’t met up for anything more than a couple stolen kisses and a sexy text off the field.

I owed her a third date.

But hell, if I had