The Rivalry

The OSU marching band began to play our fight song as a booming voice echoed from the announcement system. “From Columbus, Ohio—the Ohio State Buckeyes.”

The players poured through the tunnel, and we surged right on their heels, dashing out into the cold. It was nothing but green turf and blue fans in the stands. A huge boo erupted from all around. It was so loud, it drowned out everything, but I freaking loved it.

ABC Network cameras followed us as we jogged down to the end zone, where a strip of red was grouped together in a protest of defiance. “Go Bucks!” I yelled. “O-H!”

“I-O!” the crowd and my cheerleaders answered back.

The Victors played and, as the crowd roared in approval, I set my fisted pom-poms on each hip and turned to watch the Wolverines take the field. I didn’t usually get flustered, but that all changed when I’d met Jay, and now it was so different. Butterflies fluttered frantically in my belly as he stormed onto the grass, jogging with his team toward their bench.

He was fifty yards away, but when his helmet turned the direction of us cheerleaders, I swallowed a breath. Was he looking for me? His shoulders pulled back, and his hand came up, giving one short, quick wave. I pictured his grin under his facemask, imagining it matched mine.

Then, I didn’t have to imagine. His fingers curled around his facemask and yanked the helmet off, holding it at his side. It gave me a view of his dazzling ear-to-ear smile.

Seeing him in the blue Michigan jersey and yellow pants should have filled me with disgust . . . but it didn’t. For the first time, I could see past the uniform to the guy beneath. In fact, all I could see was him. My gorgeous, amazing boyfriend, who was probably freezing his ass off by not wearing sleeves. Was he making a statement about toughness, or was he one of those receivers who liked nothing in the way when he tucked the ball into the carry?

He’d removed his helmet for a reason, and I turned my attention to the American flag whipping in the wind above the stadium. The Big House had quieted to nothing as the band began to play the National Anthem.

When it was done and the crowd cheered, I shot a look to Jay from across the grass, which said, “Okay, Eighty-Eight, time to focus on why we were both here.”

I paired up with Sean as my base and Isaac as my backspot, and stepped into Sean’s cupped hands. Up I went, keeping my core tight and my spine as straight as possible, until his arms were fully extended beneath me. I found my balance on my supporting leg, and lifted my other behind, up until I could reach over my head and grab my toe.

A scorpion stunt was one of my favorite lifts. I could demonstrate my flexibility, and Sean got to show off how strong he was. I smiled at the crowd I could see better now that I was lifted high above the wall. My base was rock solid beneath my foot, and I pointed with my index finger to the sky, gesturing OSU was number one. They’d see it soon enough.

The game kicked off, and all one hundred thousand people in the stadium watched as the Michigan kicker sent the ball deep into the end zone. It dropped into the hands of our punt returner, who got a great run.

But we didn’t do much with it.

We got one new set of downs, but then had to punt it away. It was early. Our boys just needed to settle and find their rhythm. But Michigan’s defense was good, and anxiety twisted inside me as their explosive offense took over.

The Wolverine huddle was significantly downfield from me, but as it broke, I watched Jay move into position and I set my teeth. The ground felt less stable beneath me than when I’d been balanced on Sean’s hand. I’d never been so on edge during a game in my life.

The ball was snapped, and Radcliff didn’t move from the pocket. He turned and fired it to Jay, right in the numbers. My throat closed up as he spun out of a tackle and bolted downfield. It was like he was running right at me, and I was paralyzed. My brain fractured between wanting his success and not wanting Michigan to score on their opening drive.

Certainly not on their first fucking play.

Jay passed the thirty, the twenty-five, the twenty—

Dark arms wrapped around his chest and drove him into the ground with a loud grunt and the sound of bodies colliding with hard, cold turf. The Ohio State player took his time getting up off Jay, and I pressed my lips together. Tariq Crawford rose to stand and lingered for a moment over the opponent he’d just tackled. He was saying something to Jay, but I couldn’t hear it over the announcer, and probably wouldn’t want to. Tariq’s confrontational body language made me sure they weren’t exchanging recipes.