Page 18

N ASH

It’s been a media circus this week with the possibility of me getting my hundred and fiftieth sack in this afternoon’s game against New York.

Their offensive line has been weak, and with the injuries they faced last week, it’s leaving a gaping hole that every sports reporter is banking on me taking advantage of.

Making the record books is a dream for any athlete, and that’s what should be on my mind, not the leggy brunette wearing my jersey in the stands behind our bench. Walker hooked his bride and her friends up with season seats close by, and for that, I’m truly thankful.

But hell. I didn’t think seeing the number fifty-six on Kendall’s chest would cause this kind of reaction. I didn’t like seeing Buck’s number on her, but that didn’t mean she had to have mine. I’m all kinds of fucked up.

It’s cold as hell out and steam is literally coming off the D-line’s heads as soon as they take their helmets off. I’m keeping mine on because the cameras have been lasered in on me all game, and I don’t want the media to catch on that my attention is behind me and not on the fucking field.

We’re four minutes into the third quarter and I’ve had two opportunities for a sack, but I was too slow at the snap. My quick feet and ability to steamroll past the O-line is what has gotten me this far. But tonight, my feet are heavy.

Declan and our offense are on the field now with a third and goal. The crowd is on their feet, and when I hear the disappointment, I know we didn’t cash in. Trenton Miller, our kicker with the golden foot, runs out onto the field.

I hop up to my feet and Darius head butts me. “It’s go time, Hump. This is it. Make fucking history tonight.”

“Fuck yeah!”

Even with the roar of the crowd as Miller makes the kick, I’m pretty sure I hear Kendall’s obnoxious whistle followed by, “You got this, Nash Potato!”

Hell if that doesn’t make my lip quirk. I don’t turn around cause Coach would have my ass for not being focused on the game—if he only knew—and wait for our special teams to come off the field before running out and lining up.

I’m zeroed in on the quarterback, waiting for his call. Not a fraction of a second passes after the ball is snapped before my feet zip left then right around the lineman. My pulse quickens. I can taste it. The quarterback. The sack. The records. Kendall.

Shit. The QB stretches his arm back to throw the ball and I waste no more time, leaping through the air and tackling him to the ground. The ball loosens from his grip and I see Darius scramble for it.

He picks it up and runs into the end zone, but the QB was already down so we didn’t get the fumble or the touchdown, but I got the fucking sack.

“You fucker!” My teammates slap me on the back and Darius scrambles back, picking me up at the waist and twirling me around like a fucking princess.

The air in the stadium is thick with excitement, and Coach calls a timeout so we can celebrate before New York takes advantage of our distraction and gets a snap out before we’re lined up.

I jog to the sidelines and tilt my head back so one of the kids from Riley’s foundation can squirt water into my mouth. I take that second to absorb the excitement in the stadium. It’s so freaking loud I can feel it coming up through the turf and into my cleats.

Because I’m a sucker, I glance into the stands and grin like a fool, watching Kendall jump up and down in excitement. She cups her hands over her mouth and yells, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. Not with the music, the cheers, and the adrenaline drumming in my head.

“Nice fucking job, Hump. Don’t let the noise get in your head. Go out there and keep doing your job.” Coach smacks me on the ass, as does the rest of the team as I jog back out to the line of scrimmage.

We beat New York by two touchdowns and a field goal, but the hollering from my teammates after the game is centered around me. I didn’t think I cared that much about the milestone, but it’s contagious and I can’t help feeding off their energy.

The media circles me like vultures on the field after the game, and I give them a few words, acknowledging the work of my coaches and teammates, especially the D-line. Without them, the sacks wouldn’t be possible.

When I finally make it to the locker room, the team is chanting. “Hump, Hump, Hump!”

Walker gives me a not-so-gentle shove to the center of the room where Darius holds out a water bottle, acting like it’s a mic, and says, “Now that you’re going down in history as one of the best defensive ends in history, what are you going to do with yourself?”

“He’s going to Disney World!” Declan yells.

Not a bad idea. Paisley would love that.

“He’s gonna get laid so hard tonight,” one of the younger guys says from the back of the locker room.

I picture Kendall, her dark hair splayed on my pillow. Or tugging on her ponytail as I ride her from behind.

“Tag team them ladies, bro.” One of the young recruits who hasn’t seen a down yet snickers.

I can’t hate him because that was me not so long ago.

Shaking my head at Darius, I take the water bottle, clear my throat, and take my time scanning the room.

Waiting until a hush falls over my sweaty, fired up team, I lift the bottle to my mouth and say, “I’m gonna knock Bruce Smith down a peg or two. ”

A collective ohhhh erupts from the locker room.

It’s doubtful I’ll come close to legendary Bruce Smith’s two hundred sack career.

Smith is a fucking god, and I probably cursed my future luck talking smack about him.

He made it nineteen years in the NFL, and I’m a decade in.

It’s possible I get close, but I’m well aware how age slows us down.

Unless you’re Tom Brady. That legend never slowed down during his twenty-three year career. I doubt I’ll make it to my forties, but I’ll keep playing as long as my career doesn’t interfere any more than it already has with Paisley’s life.

“The dogs are barking. Shower up and meet us for the post-game press conference.” Saunders, our GM, pats me on the pack.

“Proud of you, Nash.” Coach Hayes gives me a one-armed hug.

Once I’m showered and changed into a long sleeve button down and dress pants, I join Coach in the press room. I’m not shy, but I’m private. As long as the media keeps the questions to football and my career, I can hold my happy-go-lucky face.

Thankfully, they do. No one pries into my private life.

Whether they’ve been warned by Hayes, which I appreciate, or are solely focused on my career, I’ll take it.

When Coach saves me by thanking the media and bringing up Declan, who loves being in the spotlight, I head back to the locker room for my things.

I don’t expect anyone to wait for me, but Bankes, Buck, and Darius are there. “You can’t say no tonight, Hump.” Miles drapes his arm over my shoulder. “You owe us the honor of buying you a drink.”

“I owe you, huh?”

“Hells yeah.” He ushers me through the tunnel to where Riley and her friends are waiting for Bankes.

My eyes instantly find Kendall, wearing my number on her chest. My cock twitches in my pants.

“There’s the man of the hour!” Riley passes by her husband to give me a hug.

“The hell?” Walker snaps.

Since there’s not a chance in Hell he’s jealous of the hug, I hold her snug against me and pick her up.

“Thanks, beautiful.”

“Find your own woman.” Bankes pulls Riley off me and under his arm. He smashes her to his chest and shoots teasing daggers at me.

I shrug it off. “What can I say? The ladies love me. What kind of stats you trying to reach, Bankes?”

It’s easy to razz him because he’s the most humble player I’ve ever had the privilege of being teammates with, and because he’s one helluva running back.

“Fuck off.” He flips me the bird and I chuckle, but my laugh stalls out when I turn toward Kendall.

“Congratulations, Nash.” Rowan comes between us and gives me a soft hug.

“Thanks, Rowan.” I don’t know her as well as Riley, but she’s always been sweet. A little on the quiet side but she doesn’t come off as shy or meek. She has fun with her friends on the dance floor and can handle her own around the guys without coming off snarky like Kendall.

I don’t mind the snark. It’s hot coming out of Kendall’s mouth.

“Where’s the party tonight?” Buck asks behind me.

I wet my bottom lip with my tongue while stalling for the right words to say to Kendall. I don’t know where we stand. Is she mad at me? Is that why she ignored all my gifts last week?

All I can think to say is, “My jersey looks good on you.”

Hell if I don’t sound like a conceited asshole. Thankfully, she doesn’t take it that way and snickers.

“You think? It’s not all that different” She traces the five with her finger. “Five. Eight. Pretty close.”

They’re not close at all, but I bite back my response.

“Whiskey Buckle it is.” Buck says. “We ubering and leaving the vehicles here?”

We’d all rather leave our rides at the stadium lot where they’re safer than a bar parking lot if we have to catch rides home.

“I’ll be designated driver tonight. Monday mornings spent in a room bustling with kindergartners is not conducive to hangovers.”

“I’m not planning on getting shit faced, so I can take the late crew home,” Bankes offers.

No doubt Buck and Dec will stay until last call.

Miles does his thing, working his way between Rowan and Kendall. “I’ll hitch a ride with the ladies.”

“Mind if I tag along?” I ask Riley.

“Let’s go,” Kendall says aggressively and storms off with Buck and Rowan in tow.

“Wait for me,” Declan calls, coming through the double doors and running after the trio.

Bankes’s brother, Jackson, and his husband, Taylor, take their own car, and I follow the newlyweds to the parking lot feeling like a third wheel. We talk about the game, breaking down each play, the entire twenty-minute drive to the bar.