Second Chance: A Military Football Romance

"I love you."

"I love you," I said back. Our lips met again. He kissed me deeply before hoisting me up and walking us to the bathroom. He told me again as we made love in our huge multi-head shower, then again as we dozed in each other’s arms and fell asleep.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Roman

Six Months Later

35 to 31. It had been close. Almost too close, but we had taken it. Only just, but it was still a win. That last whistle and the roar from the crowd never got old. At some point, I figured looking up and seeing walls of people everywhere I turned would feel normal, but it hadn't yet.

I had asked Ron to sit in one of the private boxes but she hadn't. She had been right up close in one of the field seats. I liked that she could see me from where she was, even though the boxes were safer and more comfortable.

I was so distracted looking for her I almost missed the question the man with the mic in my face had asked. I looked at him, smiled, and said thank you. Safe answer for whatever he could have said. It must have been the right one, too, because he kept talking. I tried to look over his shoulder back at the crowd to see whether I could find Ron.

"Can we expect this for the rest of the season?" the guy asked. This had to be the most boring part of this job. Talking to the press. They were kind of our worst enemy, but coverage was good. Good coverage was the best. Lord knew how easy it was to get bad coverage.

"Absolutely," I told him, giving him my practiced interview smile. We all had to do it, but they didn't media train us the way they trained us for the games. If you could schmooze, people liked you more. You sold more jerseys, and that meant your management liked you more. All in a day's work. The guy thanked me and took his mic out of my face.

Finally. I scanned the crowd, looking for where Ron had sat. Every time I had tried to look over at her during the game, the cheerleaders had been in the way.

I finally saw her, hair up, wearing her Hurricanes jersey. I jogged over pulling her down onto the field, past the rope barricade. She jumped into my arms, hugging me.

“You did so good, baby,” she said.

“That’s right. And, I’m not done yet,” I shot back.

She laughed. She couldn’t make all the games, and I didn’t expect her to, but she was always in the crowd supporting me when she could be. She was cordial with some of the other girlfriends and wives that came to the games, but she wasn’t exactly being invited to brunches with them. Not really her scene. She was almost done with her senior year – she had other things on her plate.

“Are they going to let you leave now?” she asked.

“After the press conference, for sure,” I told her. She nodded. I was glad she got it, but there were still things here and there I felt a little bad for making her put up with. Someone came up behind me clapping me on the back.

“Good game, Rome,” Marcus, our wide receiver, said to me.

“Don’t lie to him,” another guy, Luther, said. He played tight end. “Veronica, tell your man if he lets it get that close again, it’s his ass,” he said. She laughed. A number of the guys knew her from practices and games; she’d come with me to parties they had at their places sometimes. They’d give her shit, some would flirt with her, but she ran with it.

“I don’t know. He played pretty well from where I sat,” she said. Luther was holding the game ball, passing it between his hands.

“I think we need to start looking for a replacement. How’s your throwing arm?” he asked.

“Mine?” she asked, catching the ball as he tossed it to her.

“Now we know you can catch,” he said, grinning at her. “Come on,” he said, walking backwards, “give me your best throw.” She looked at me, holding the ball in her hands.

“Go on. Show us what you got,” I challenged. The ball looked huge in her hands. I was going to say with some confidence that she’d never tossed one of those in her life. She threw it, straight and long right at Luther. He caught it and came towards us.

“Damn, and that’s with no practice?” he said, gassing her up. Veronica laughed.

“Watch out, Rome. I might have a career in this,” she said, looking at me. Luther tossed the ball at me. I handed it to her.

“You know if that happened I’d be your biggest cheerleader.”

“Would you wear the little shorts?” she asked, grinning. I laughed.

“A skirt would be better, don’t you think? Easier access.” She laughed, and I kissed her. We cleared off the field and met up again after the press conference. We had come in separate cars since I had had to be at the stadium before her.

A few of the guys were going out to celebrate, but we had plans already. The team’s owner, Peter Goldman and his wife had asked to have dinner with us that night. He had chosen a place where a lot of players went often, so of course, dinner was half actually eating and half talking to fans and signing autographs.