Page 36 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

THIRTY-SIX

SUTTON

Every cell in my body wants to wear the jersey of my guy, number ten, Greyson O'Ryan, but that wouldn't be professional, so instead, I wear a plain jersey with our logo covering the front and back.

Anna, on the other hand, is completely decked out in number ten attire.

She says it's to thank him for saving her best friend—me.

It's been a busy week, but while I've been at work, she's worked with Paulina and Gabby and hung out with them afterward.

She's told them a little too much about our escapades when we lived at the tennis academy in Florida.

For some reason, she doesn't tell them that I was always saying, "This isn't a good idea.

" It seems that every person has that one friend who is their complete opposite.

Anna was always willing to risk whatever it was, just so she could have a thrill and a story to repeat for over a decade.

Since Anna wants to meet our head coach, we go to the field.

J.D. is proving himself to be no-nonsense on game day, but I'm hoping he'll at least say hello.

It's about ten minutes before kickoff, and I see Greyson, helmet on and ready to compete.

Catching a glimpse of us, he jogs over. "Boss, Anna. How ya' feelin'?"

"Fantastic. I just needed to see my bestie. And I'm much better. Back to practicing tennis again," Anna says as she gently pulls me into her side.

"Good, we were all worried about you." His focus slides from my jersey to Anna's. "Well, at least one of you has on the right jersey." He winks and jogs away.

I yell across the turf, "Good luck!"

He turns with a smirk, walking backward to the center of the field. "It's not luck. It's skill." Warmth travels through me at his charm and confidence. It's one of the reasons he's the darling of the NFL—he doesn't come off as cocky, just confident.

Finally, I see Coach and pull Anna's arm until we reach him. I tap him on the shoulder, and he shifts abruptly. "Oh, hey."

"I'll be quick. This is my best friend, Anna."

"Nice to meet you." He reaches out to shake her hand, but she hugs him instead. "Enjoy the game."

"Oh, I will. The butts on these men are fantastic."

J.D. gets right back to work as he meets Coach Stricker and Greyson on the thirty-yard line to go over final instructions.

After all the pregame festivities, the game starts off with a defensive stand in the red zone.

A thunderous and collective cheer comes from the stands when we hold them on fourth down.

Now we have the ball. Frank Cozen has firmed up the blind side, allowing Greyson to move around without fear of being sacked; he throws a touchdown pass to the wide receiver.

The game continues to be a nail-biter. Greyson is playing great, but our defense has given up two touchdowns .

The crowd is going wild during the television timeout while my heart hammers in my veins.

With forty-four seconds on the clock, the scoreboard hasn't moved since the third quarter, stopped at 14-14.

But we have a chance to win it, and the fans are merciless and loud.

This is our stadium, and the opposing team feels it.

All eyes are on Number Ten as he jogs onto the field.

He doesn't look around—he just snaps his chinstrap—and the crowd erupts.

I know how he's feeling. To be successful, you must have unbreakable focus, and that's what he has. I grip the edge of the seat in front of me so hard my knuckles burn. Even though my body feels like a live wire, I try to look calm for the department heads and friends.

Greyson barks out the play, drops back, and scans the field.

He wants to relieve the stress on his brother and turn this team into winners.

"Winners win," he always says. "Teach a man that it's okay to lose, and he will continue to lose.

Teach a man to win, and he will keep winning.

" The problem is that our team is so new to working together, and everyone must have a winner's mentality.

None of the receivers can shake the defenders, so he dumps it off to the running back, who catches it three yards away but then breaks a tackle and comes close to a first down.

The next play is a quarterback sneak for a first down, but the clock is ticking.

Greyson throws for eight yards, but the clock is down to seven seconds.

I'm not an expert, but I think J.D. will kick a field goal for the win.

Greyson calls a timeout, and J.D. is furious.

Coach Stricker takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his hair.

The camera shows a close-up of them talking, with Greyson covering his mouth, and it's clear our head coach isn't happy.

He finally pats Greyson on the helmet, and he huddles up with the guys.

Surprised, I shout, "We're going for it!" I look around. "Is that what we should do?"

Everyone has a different opinion. Depending on the outcome, some of the employees will have bragging rights.

From high above the field, I watch Greyson command the offense.

The team changes position each time he calls out a word.

I wish I understood why they call a play "Cinderella Pumpkin Seven.

" But Greyson drops back five or six steps, surveying the field.

I look at the Jumbotron and see that the clock has ticked down to four seconds.

Greyson lets the ball fly, and when I say fly, I mean the ball slices through the air.

Redham jumps, his body parallel to the ground, and brings the pigskin to his chest. Touchdown.

Greyson runs down the field, celebrating with his team.

The cameras zoom in on him and a few others, and they're all making the letter 'A' in sign language.

He's adapting to his new team, and I'm falling in love with a man who can have any woman he wants.

And all I can think of is how good my Number Ten is under pressure.

Slapping each other's hands, I pull Anna, Marlon, and my brother into the suite so we can see Greyson's live interview.

Well, I don't tell them that part. J.D. and Greyson are larger than life on the television.

Brothers. The first coach/quarterback combo in history to win a professional football game in their home stadium.

The interviewer simply asks for his thoughts.

J.D. lifts his hat before placing it back on his head and lets out what looks like a sigh of relief.

"I've always loved to win, but to win our first home game of the season with my brother.

.. Well, it's like we're in high school again.

It's a lot of fun." The emotion in his voice is evident.

"Greyson, do you feel the same way? "

Sweat pours from the ends of Greyson's hair, making me wish he were hovering over me with his sweat dripping on my body.

His smile is hiding something, and I'll have to ask him about it.

"In all honesty, I'm happier than I've ever been.

This is a great organization headed up by people that I trust and a team that is coming together, so I can't ask for much more. "

"Congrats on the win. How are you going to celebrate?"

"Thank you. I'll enjoy tonight, but then it's right back to work to prepare for Atlanta."

Greyson winks at the camera, and I'm almost sure it's all for me.