I’m never going to forgive you.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Okay, Miss Bossypants.”
I’ll admit it’s hard to stay mad at him.
Bree nudges me from my other side. “Make him work for it.”
I’m huddled with my friends when I see Miranda and Zoe standing a few rows away, glaring at me. Miranda’s carrying a sign that says, “Rider, go deep!” with a pic of Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games when she holds up her hand as tribute. She and Zoe are wearing shirts that say “I’ve Ridden a Bronco.”
I roll my eyes heavenward.
Although a minuscule piece of me admits that shirt is cute.
I think back to his messages. If what Rider says is true, Miranda doesn’t pose a threat. And I owe it to both of us to hear him out and let him explain why he was hanging out with her.
By the time the game starts, I’m too focused on the field to care about her.
The game’s intense. So intense, I barely breathe the first half. The Longhorns quickly pull ahead, but then Rider throws two touchdowns and we go into halftime tied.
I lose my voice sometime in the third quarter, and by the fourth, I’ve gnawed off all of my nails.
When we go into the last five minutes of play tied, again, I’m so choked up, I can barely breathe.
That’s when I finally admit the truth: I have it bad for Rider.
72
RIDER
I’m tempted.
For the first time since I spotted Gabby and Sienna in my seats, I let my eyes wander over to where she’s standing with her hands folded under her chin.
If anyone were to ask me why I want to win the game, my automatic response would be for the team. For the coach who’s always stood by me. For my roommates who have my back.
But the reason I need to win is huddled in the stands, shivering her cute little ass off, and my daughter, who’s probably asleep in her great-grandmama’s arms in that giant house Adele calls “a cottage.”
“You okay there, Captain?” Tank asks as he steps into the huddle.
“It’s all good.”
You know, just gotta win the game, clinch a playoff berth, and get the girl back.
And nothing I’ve planned to get the girl back works if we don’t win. I’m not an idiot—just because Sienna twisted Gabby’s arm to get here doesn’t mean she’s forgiven me. I know I have my work cut out for me today.
But first things first—we’re tied at forty with three minutes on the clock.
No pressure.
I take a deep breath.
“Who’s ready to win this and put the Horns out of their misery?” I ask my guys. Their eyes spark with intensity as they shout in agreement.
We had a shitty return on the punt, so we’re looking at seventy yards for a touchdown. We don’t need a Hail Mary just yet, and I’m not ready to chance it when there’s time on the clock.
When we break from the huddle, I clear my head of everything except the play I need to execute.
I smile to myself. Been dying to try this all season.
The ball snaps.
I drop into the pocket and pretend to search downfield. I fake a pass to Ben with my right hand, but the ball is in my left, which I hold out to Winston as he skirts by and hightails it downfield.
A beautiful Statue of Liberty handoff, if I do say so myself.
He runs it forty yards. Fuck yeah.
First down with thirty yards left.
Unfortunately, we get bogged down on the next play and still need twenty-five yards with a minute left.
On the next snap, UT blitzes, and those fuckers come at me full speed.
A brick wall of brown uniforms blaze my way, and I dodge the first guy, but the second one slams into my left shoulder, shoving me backwards.
God, no.
I’ll kick my own ass if I get sacked right now.
Scrambling, I pray to the gods of gravity to keep me upright.
With a heartbeat to spare before I go down on my ass, my peripheral vision snags on that beautiful Bronco uniform in the end zone, and I gun it over the bodies that close over that small window.
I hit the ground hard, the wind getting knocked out of me, but I’m too busy trying to figure out if I nailed that pass to breathe.
A silence descends over the stadium. A million lifetimes condense into that split second.
Then the crowd roars as Trevor catches my pass for a touchdown, and I gasp for air.
Hell, yeah. Looks like we’re