WEST’S WORDS linger in my mind, like a mantra of motivation, pushing me to claim what I deserve. If I want this opportunity badly enough, then I need to find a surefire way to make it happen.
The initial step? Convincing Garrett that I’m not someone who’s easily dismissed. So, I pull up my resolve like battle armor.
I’ll write a quality piece on this scrimmage, far better than any regurgitated stats Liam Kessler can produce. I’ve read his work, over and over again. His articles are about as uninspiring as a weather forecast, with no heart, no substance, and definitely no love for the game.
For God’s sake, the man’s a baseball fan.
A sudden surge of annoyance sweeps through me. How could I ever step back and watch someone undeserving claim my rightful place? But then again, maybe Liam isn’t the real enemy here. Maybe he’s just an unknowing pawn in Garrett’s game.
Fingers trembling, I dial his number. “Hello? Warner speaking,” he answers promptly, his voice the usual mix of professionalism and indifference.
“Hey, it’s Jade.”
“Jade,” he repeats, no hint of emotion.
“Jennings,” I quickly add, attempting to mask my growing apprehension.
“Yes,” he says in a clipped tone. “I know who this is, Jade. I have caller ID.”
Nice, we’re off to a wonderful start already.
I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and plunge right ahead. “I’m just calling to let you know that I’m going to write a piece on the scrimmage tonight. I’m planning on interviewing some key players afterward, but I’ll have it on your desk by Tuesday morning. If it’s better than Liam’s work, then I deserve to have it published.”
His silence stretches long enough to ignite a flicker of doubt inside me. I pace the length of my living room, growing more desperate with each lingering second. “Garrett,” I urge, “say something.”
“I don’t want you covering the game tonight,” he finally speaks. “But—”
“Liam will already be out there interviewing players. I don’t want you two doubling up. Besides, I’m not choosing which article to publish after the fact. It would be a waste of time for you.”
His words knock the wind out of me, but I scramble to regain my footing. “It’s not a waste of time.” I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart. “I’m trying to—”
“I have a different proposal for you.”
A pause. I stop pacing. “Okay, go ahead.”
“The football team is hosting a banquet next weekend. I want you to get a press pass and cover the event. It’s still technically a student-life piece, so it’s right in your ballpark. It’ll also give you a good opportunity to interact with the team and mingle with the players. If you produce quality work, I’ll consider you as a full-time reporter for the upcoming season.”
My heart leaps at his offer. Is this real? An actual opportunity to prove myself? And at an event that I was already set to attend? This is . . . brilliant.
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” he confirms, his tone unchanging. “Do you need me to contact the team to get you a pass?”
“No, I can handle it.”
“Alright, then it’s settled. Have a nice afternoon, Jade.” “Thank you, Garrett. You too.”
I hang up, reeling, still in disbelief. Who would have thought it could be so simple? The good old Westman-Cooke method actually worked.
 |
AN HOUR LATER, I meet up with Maya and Sophie, a couple of girls I know from the paper. We’re not too close, but our paths have crossed enough over the years to form a casual friendship. And while we don’t have much else in common, I enjoy how easygoing they are.
They’re fun and flirty, and their infectious excitement is exactly what I need for the game tonight.
They’re already waiting for me at the agreed-upon spot, their outfits proudly showcasing our school’s colors—emerald green and gold. West has made sure I’m equally decked out. His jersey hangs off me, a sweet reminder of our commitment, and I can’t help but feel all sorts of giddy inside.
“Hey, you two,” I greet them, beaming. “Let’s go grab our seats.” Maya’s response is a quick, warm hug. “Jade! You look so cute.”
An exchange of compliments follows as we link arms and navigate our way into the pulsing heart of the stadium. Even with kickoff forty-five minutes away, the stands are already brimming with anticipation.
It’s our first spring scrimmage, and the football-starved students are eager to witness the action. A lump of excitement nestles in my stomach as well. I’ve always loved everything about the game—the energetic buzz, the fervor of the fans, the players’ relentless drive, and now, the exhilaration of watching West play.
As we settle into our seats, my gaze combs over the crowd in search of his number. A thrill runs through me when I spot him on the sidelines. Decked out in his gear, he’s a fucking sight to behold, his dark hair swept back, helmet gripped casually in one hand.
Sophie nudges me. “Found him?”
“Mhm,” I confirm, a little breathless. I point him out right away. “He’s there, number thirty-eight.”
Maya’s eyes light up. “Oh, I see him!” She then proceeds to cup her hands around her mouth and yell, “Number thirty-eight! We love you!”
The bold display earns us the attention of half the nearby crowd, but most importantly, West’s. His gaze sweeps over the stands, eventually landing on us. A wide grin splits his face, and he salutes me, throwing in a wink for good measure.
Maya giggles. “See! Totally worth it.”
“He’s a hottie,” Sophie sighs before quickly adding, “Sorry, that’s your man.”
I laugh, waving off her apology. “Don’t be. I know he’s hot.”
We continue our lighthearted conversation, the kickoff approaching rapidly. My attention, however, keeps diverting to the field, drawn by the energy radiating from West. The game hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already enthralled.
The opening announcements blare out, revealing that Coastal’s won the coin toss. Predictably, they choose to receive, banking on their impressive offensive stats. The kickoff initiates a frenzied start to the game, the Ospreys putting up a solid offense, leading to an early touchdown and conversion.
Then it’s our turn to strike back. It comes as no surprise that Coach Rodriguez called in Noah as the starting quarterback. A redshirt freshman who, over the years, has risen in ranks.
Noah’s impressive out the gate, but his efforts aren’t being matched by our receivers. A sequence of crucial drops on the third down disrupts our momentum, which leaves a window of opportunity wide open for the Ospreys.
Despite the odds, by halftime, we claw our way back to a tie, the scoreboard reading 14-14.
In need of a break, I let my friends know I’m headed to the restroom. I tug my jersey over my shorts, prepping to navigate through the crowd.
Sophie, eager to help, leans in and yells, “Do you want some company?”
“That’s okay,” I shout back. “I can find my way back if you stay here.” “Alright, text us if you get lost.”
I slowly weave my way through the chaos around me. To my relief, the line for the women’s restroom isn’t too long yet. And after waiting a few minutes, I’m able to slip inside.
I slide my shorts down, getting comfortable in the confines of the small restroom stall. I had expected this to be a brief sanctuary of calm. But it’s more like a hub of animated gossip instead, the whispers and giggles echoing in the tiled space.
“Oh my God, did you see Conor out there?” a female voice practically squeals in excitement.
“Are you kidding? He looks so fucking good,” says her friend. “It’s a shame he’s not even playing tonight.”
“Yeah, but you know who is playing?”
“Please don’t tell me you’re eyeing West again,” the first voice cautions. “He’s bad news, Cass.”
My back stiffens involuntarily, a knot of unease growing in my stomach. Still, I remain silent, frozen in place while they carry on.
“He may be bad news,” Cassidy’s voice flows confidently, “but he’s got some other skills that make it all worthwhile.”
A pang of jealousy courses through me, sharpening my senses.
“Yeah, yeah,” the first girl dismisses her with a knowing chuckle. “West is great in bed, but he’ll also eat your heart out.”
Cassidy’s giggle grates on my nerves. “Who says I have a heart?”
“You know he’s seeing someone else now, right?” a third voice chimes in, one I’m fairly certain belongs to Shannon’s friend, Emmy, the sweet girl who warned me off Miller.
Heartened by her effort to stand up for me, I quickly zip up my shorts and emerge from the stall. I join them at the sink without a word, moving beside her to wash my hands.
As I glance up, Emmy’s surprised reflection meets my gaze in the mirror.
“Cassidy,” she softly chides, her gaze darting between me and her teammates. She looks almost apologetic, an uncomfortable tension settling on her features.
“What’s the—?” Cassidy starts, but her friend cuts her off.
“Jade, hi,” Emmy greets, attempting to defuse the situation with a small smile. “How are you?”
“I’m great, thanks,” I say, returning her greeting with a forced half- smile of my own.
The third girl makes a small choking noise, her eyes darting back and forth between us. Cassidy’s glance follows and then lands squarely on me, blatantly sizing me up. There’s an awkward pause, but she doesn’t immediately backpedal or apologize. Instead, she raises a brow, a smug grin stretching across her face.
“Hey, Jade. Didn’t realize you were here.” Her voice resonates within the small room, laced with feigned innocence that only amps up my irritation.
Emmy intervenes before I have the chance to respond, her tone soft yet firm. “Cass, we should probably get back to the team.”
Ignoring her, Cassidy continues. “You still have your little thing going on with West, don’t you? Isn’t he just a beast on the field?”
Something inside me snaps at her tone. I’d let her comments slide earlier, but now, I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “Yes, he’s my boyfriend,” I correct, meeting her gaze dead-on. “And he’s incredible both on and off the field.”
The bathroom descends into an uncomfortable silence, Cassidy’s smirk faltering. The third friend looks at her shoes. Emmy, bless her heart, sends me an apologetic glance, to which I respond with a small, appreciative nod.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I say, wiping my hands on a paper towel. “I’d rather not keep my friends waiting.”
With that, I make a hasty exit, leaving them behind in the restroom. The whole encounter wasn’t pleasant, but I’m proud of how I stood up for myself.
By the time I make it back to my seat, I’ve successfully managed to squash all the weird feelings they just stirred up. West is mine, and I’m his. And he’s certainly not gonna “eat my heart out,” as the girls would say.
Barely suppressing a grin, my gaze finds its way back to the game. Maybe it’s my bias, but I can’t tear my eyes away from West. His power as a running back is something to behold, his ability to weave through the defense and run the ball a testament to his talent.
And it’s his claim on the field that serves as our ticket to shattering Coastal’s defense.
With only nine minutes remaining in the game, Dayton secures the ball. They proceed to run it on all fifteen plays, which sets up our senior kicker for an easy field goal to close us off.
It’s a 27-21 victory for Dayton, and the sounds of the crowd are ear- splitting.
As the student section rushes the field, I shove past the endless crowds of people until I make it all the way to my new favorite player. When I finally reach him, West’s a vision of victory—sweat streaking down his face, black smudges marking his cheekbones.
He shouts my name from just a few paces away. I’m close enough to see his lips move, but it’s loud enough that I can barely hear him.
“Jade!” he calls again.
I push past the last few stragglers standing between us. He’s beaming at me now, his arms spread wide as I rush to meet him, his energy practically
sparking against my skin. “You were incredible!”
He tilts his head down, brushing our lips together. “Only because I had my good-luck charm in the stands.”
I roll my eyes, but the grin on my face—the warm flush of heat on my cheeks—betrays me yet again. “So corny.”
“Only for you, baby.” He smirks, his gaze softening. “Only for you.”
Then his lips are on mine, sealing his promise with a kiss that’s anything but chaste. His strong arms pull me closer, pressing me against the armor of his chest as our mouths move in a rhythm all their own.
It’s a rush, the way we fit so perfectly together. And nothing, not even the sounds of the cheering crowd, can drown out the thundering of his heartbeat against mine.
