4th & Girl

Some of them, Cam included, had been after this title for their entire careers. Years of sweat and agony, years of putting it all on the line, years of coming so close they could taste it.

And now, they had a real fucking shot.

I spotted number twenty-one on the field, and my chest grew tight with nerves and adoration.

C’mon, Leo!

Fuck, I was nervous for him. And when I looked over at the wives and girlfriends of Leo’s teammates, I quickly realized I wasn’t the only one who was freaking out.

Quinn Bailey’s wife Cat was literally sitting on the edge of her seat.

Lana Simone, Cam’s fiancée, stood by the glass of the box, her elbows resting on the railing and her eyes wide with anticipation.

And Six Phillips bounced around the VIP box with her camera in one hand and a tiny infant in the other arm, catching everything and everyone on film.

Philly’s quarterback took the hike, and the players on the line barreled toward each other.

With a short, lateral pass to his left, Philadelphia’s QB got rid of the ball and the receiver snagged it from the air, but he only managed a yard or two before the Mavericks defense tackled his ass to the ground.

Hell yes!

Everyone—including me—inside the VIP box was on their feet, screaming and cheering and clapping and high-fiving each other.

And we were practically docile compared to the crowd in the stands. They jived and jumped and rumbled so loud, goose bumps peppered the skin of my arms.

“C’mon, Mavericks!” Lana shouted through cupped hands. “You got this, guys!”

“Let’s go, Mavs!” Six exclaimed.

The ref verified fourth down with a wave of his arms and a blow of his whistle, and the crowd went wild.

With thirty seconds left on the clock, Philly either needed to score a touchdown or gain eight yards for another first down. And my man was one of the key players assigned to stop them.

Both teams lined up.

When the quarterback grabbed the snap, I gripped the edges of my seat as I watched the play unfold.

Philly’s QB looked left, he looked right, then he repeated that circuit again with the ball in his hands until, thanks to Leo and the rest of the team’s coverage, he ran out of viable options. In a last-ditch effort, he cradled the ball to his chest and attempted the run himself.

One yard. Two yards. He pivoted and twisted and tried like hell to get past the Mavs offense, but when he reached the ten-yard line, Leo was there. Just like he trained me to know he’d been trained, he wrapped both arms around the QB’s back and pulled him straight to the ground with a clashing bang.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I hopped up from my seat.

As the big bruiser of a quarterback hit the ground, the ball popped out from his chest and bounced across the grass.

Collins, a defensive end for our team, snagged the ball from the ground and headed toward the Mavs end zone.

By the time he reached the thirty-yard line, Philly’s offense managed to stop his progress with a quick tackle and pileup, but it was too late. The writing was on the wall, and the news was on the scoreboard.

The New York Mavericks, your national champions!

The stadium vibrated so hard, I thought the center would cave in, and confetti fell from the sky. And Leo and his teammates? They were losing their ever-loving shit.

My heart swelled with pride, and tears pricked my eyes. They deserved this. They’d worked so hard. Leo had worked so hard.

God, I couldn’t fucking wait to get to him.

Only about an hour of being a dutiful girlfriend while he had his moment with the team and about a hundred reporters and I’d be able to.

I didn’t mind. Watching him out there was like watching him come alive.

The guys had taken the stage and accepted their trophy, Leo’s face making more than one appearance on the JumboTron, handsome smile and all, and the television sportscaster had done the presentation and interview. The celebration was still wild, but we’d finally reached my favorite part, and that was because we, friends and family, were finally allowed down on the field to celebrate with them. I’d finally get to wrap my arms around my favorite Mavericks player.

My Leo.

The instant my shoes hit the grass, I spotted him standing near a few of his teammates and went sprinting toward the group with the biggest grin on my face.

“Leo!” I shouted, and he turned around.

The instant our eyes locked, the biggest, most infectious smile took over his face.

He caught me in his arms and lifted me up off my feet, and I secretly hoped my feet never hit earth again.

“Congratulations, Leonard!” I giggled and wrapped my arms and legs around his body as he slowly spun us around in a circle. “You did so fucking awesome!”