back, and Reese wiped her forehead dry, figuring if her teammates could handle this, she would have to as well. They’d been at it all day, and the humidity in the air was thicker than fog. It was late July and already a hundred and two. They all likely wanted to hit the showers and call it a day. But Reese was too much of a temptation. They wanted to see if she was worth the hype surrounding her contract. They wanted to know if she was worth losing Joe Willis, a five-year Steamers veteran, to Washington. Damn the league and their salary caps.
Back and to the left. A deeper, fuller inhale, and Reese ran, kicking the ball with all the strength she had. There was twenty years of weight training in that kick. Twenty years of practice and cardio and her father screaming at her for another mile, another ten pounds on her dumbbell. That kick held pressure and worry and missed nights with her best friend. It held the frustration of Ryder pretending to never want her and the ache she felt when he stopped pretending altogether.
It held everything she’d been and who she’d become in this city with this team.
“Dios, por favor,” she prayed, hopeful, desperate, as the ball flew forward. Then, the weight that seemed to sink into her chest lifted as the ball delivered. Reese Noble, the first contracted woman in the NFL, landed the ball perfectly through the uprights from the 40-yard line.
“Fuck me!” Wilkens called, blinking like he wasn’t sure what he’d just witnessed, and the man stood, hands on top of his head, gawking at Reese like she’d just walked on water. “I mean…fuck…me.”
In the distance on the sidelines, Reese heard the triumphant yelp and hooting call of her father, rooster proud, but tried to ignore it, shooting him a wave and a distinct, ‘get out of here’ gesture that had the man laughing. It wasn’t Take Your Dad to Work Day. He touched his watch to needlessly remind her of their dinner date, then turned to leave the stadium. He’d already mentioned it twice before she left him at the parking garage. She tried to mentally prepare herself for all the critiques and advice, and possibly bragging to the waiters or perfect strangers, that was headed her way the second she met him at the restaurant.
“Fifty,” Mills said, pulling Reese’s thoughts from her proud father as the coach pointed his thumb at the field goal for another set-up. “Dumb fucking luck, that…”
“Dumb fucking talent,” Ricks said, walking up to his special-teams coach with Gia, several of his staff trailing behind him. “We had this chat. When I signed her.”
“Coach…” Mills tried waving a hand at Reese, as though that motion would be explanation enough to why he didn’t buy the two perfectly executed kicks. “She’s…”
“If you can’t condition my players, Mills—all my players—I’m sure we can find someone who can.” He looked at Reese, that squat face softening enough that she thought he’d half-attempted a smile. “You know better than to overwork your kickers, Mills.” To Reese, Ricks nodded, head shaking as he spoke. “You’re gonna piss a lot of people off.”
“Story of my life, Coach,” she sighed. It was the truth.
“Hell, I don’t care if you do. It’ll get asses in the bleachers.”
“More importantly,” Gia interrupted, pointing at Ricks with the shades she’d pulled off as Reese landed that 40-yard kick. “We might stand a chance at the playoffs.” She looked around the field, at the players still watching them, and began to nod. “You’ve got something special this season, Coach.”
“Hope you’re right,” he said, nodding to Reese before he clapped Mills on the shoulder and led him off the field.
At her side, Gia kept step with Reese, and the twisting knots in her stomach only tightened the closer they came to the sidelines and the waiting team. “That was ballsy,” Gia said, moving her shades back over her eyes. “And risky.”
“I knew I could do it, si?” Reese admitted, nodding at Wilkens when he tagged her shoulder with his fist as he passed by. “I’ve made that distance a thousand times.”
“Not on this field.” Gia stopped, standing in front of Reese, and the woman thought her general manager was gearing up for an argument. “Not in these conditions.” She waited, that ever-serious expression making it impossible for Reese to read her. Then, Gia moved one side of her mouth up and let a low, warm laugh push past her