Play Maker (Bitsberg Knights Duet)

I nodded. I couldn’t deny it. Partying and chasin’ skirts was never a luxury I could afford. In school, I’d had to work twice as hard as everyone else to overcome a learning disability that slowed my reading speed to a crawl.

Then, in college, I had to maintain my grades to keep my scholarships, which was no easy feat. All the while climbing to the top of the pack and managing to get the eyes of pro scouts on me.

After four years on the bench, I was all too aware that my days were numbered in the NFL and if they dumped me out on my ass next season, I’d be forced to reboot my life from scratch. With that hanging over my head, it was hard to let loose and party, even with my paycheck—if only for a few hours.

“Well, I for one, am happy for you. Welcome to the pussy-whipped club,” Chance said, dropping the towel to the bench between us. “I gotta say, it’s a hell of a lot better than I’d thought.”

I laughed and thought of Shelby; she had some amazing pussy, but I didn’t think I’d ever be whipped.

“Hey? Y’all want to come to dinner with Lacey and me tonight? I pulled reservations at this sweet place Lacey’s been dying to go to. I can make a call and get a couple of extra seats at the table.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Why not? Sounds like our ladies are becoming fast friends.”

“Thanks, man. That’d be great.”

“Consider it done.”

He walked off to get ready for the game, and I sent Shelby a quick text to let her know about dinner before pocketing my phone and following after Chance.

Before I could let my mind wander to where the night with Shelby would go, I had to put all my focus into annihilating the New York Cougars.

It was a bitter, cold day for a football game, made even colder by the chorus of booing and jeering that rang down on us as we trotted from the tunnel onto the field. I glanced around at the crowd and smiled to myself. Shelby was watching from a luxury box, and I was determined to put on a show.

“Okay, we know this is your house, but right now, I’m planning to do a little redecorating. Tear down a few walls.” I laughed to myself and jogged forward to join the rest of the team.

Prior to the game, we’d all been peppered by the pregame interviews. I was the focus of a lot of the questions and a bubble of anxiety had started to rise inside of me. After all, I’d gotten a lucky break to showcase my skills and win the last game, but would I really be able to pull it off for a second time? With an even heavier weight of responsibility on my shoulders?

I didn’t have a choice. Peters and Brandon were still out. Whatever happened next, it was on me. My team needed me.

From the first play, it was like I’d been doused by some kind of invisible shield. No one could touch me. They tried to run me down, fuck up my plays, get in my way, and I outplayed them all. My feet felt like they were riding on rockets and each pass was a laser guided missile. The team was on top of their game and when the dust settled; the scoreboard read 6-44 and three-quarters of the home team’s crowd had abandoned their team to hit the parking lot early.

The surreal feeling of the game spilled over into the post-game interviews. Even though I was sitting at the table, one hand on the microphone anchored in front of me, it was like watching a movie of someone else’s life. In two weeks, I’d gone from a no-name quarterback, third string on a team that hadn’t made the playoffs in several years, and now, I was vaulted to being the star quarterback of a team that just won their second playoff game and would host the League Championship game next Sunday against the Baltimore Bulldogs.

The questions were coming in rapid fire, every reporter dying to get their questions answered. I did the best I could and let Chance—who served, more or less, as the face of the Knights—do most of the heavy lifting. Coach jumped in and fielded his own set of questions, and by the time they had shuffled the last cameras away, my head was spinning from the conversation.

“Holy shit.”

Chance laughed and slapped me on the back. “Welcome to the show, Leverette. Get used to it. After the last two games, there’s no way you’re going back to the bench.”

I knew he meant it as a compliment, but for some reason, the words twisted my stomach and surged through my chest with something that felt an awful lot like panic.