Page 7 of Flag On The Play (Gridiron Warriors #5)

NOVA

W ell, my plan didn’t go exactly how I expected.

I knew he saw me on Sunday. I knew I was the reason his ass got sacked, too. I felt equal parts pride and guilt, okay, maybe a little more pride. He’s been a walking ego since high school, so taking him down a peg felt fair.

What I didn’t expect was for him to request me in The Backstage. That’s a whole new level of ballsy.

Classic Finlay Reed. Always pushing buttons. Always playing the long game.

Now, I have to dance for him and only him. And I hate how thrilling that is. How I’ve thought about what it would feel like to have him sit back and watch me.

His stare is heavy. Possessive. Like he already knows what’s coming and is savoring every second before it happens.

I toss my robe off with a flick of my wrist, standing tall in nothing but a black lace thong and heels.

Finlay leans back like he’s on a damn throne, arms stretched across the back of the velvet couch, his thighs spread wide, daring me to come closer. His jaw tightens. His eyes drag down my body so slow it makes my skin flush.

“Damn, Nova,” he whispers, his voice low and wrecked.

I strut to him and climb onto his lap, straddling him without fully settling my weight. My hands plant on his broad shoulders, and I lean in, close enough that my breath fans over his lips. The second our eyes lock, the air between us thickens.

“It’s Lux,” I purr, grinding my hips just enough to earn a hiss of air through his teeth.

“No touching, QB. I know how difficult it is for you when I tell you something, but this is a big one.”

He grins, slow and smug. “Don’t act like you don’t love feeling like you’re in control.”

“There’s no act.” I roll my hips again, slower this time, letting his body react while mine stays cool and composed. “I am in control. And I fucking love it.”

His hands twitch where they rest on the couch, like he’s fighting every instinct to touch me. And honestly, I kind of love that too.

“You always this bossy when you're on top?” he asks, voice rough.

I lower my lips to his ear, letting my hair trail over his jaw. “Only when the man underneath me thinks he’s the one in charge.”

He groans, and I feel him get harder beneath me.

Goddamn it.

This is dangerous territory. But it’s also electric.

My skin is buzzing. My heart is thudding against my ribs, and my body is betraying me by actually wanting him to touch me.

His breath stutters, and my confidence builds.

Each motion feels like a power move, each sway of my body a checkmate in the slowest, hottest game of chess I’ve ever played.

I slide down his torso, my hands running along his chest before I turn around on his lap and press my ass against his hips, grinding slowly in time to the music piping in through the wall speakers. I glance over my shoulder and see his jaw clenched tight, his knuckles white on the cushion.

“Something wrong, Finlay?” I whisper sweetly.

“I’m fine,” he grits out. “Just trying to decide if I should bite my damn tongue or your neck.”

I smirk, rolling my hips again just to test his control.

“You always this mouthy when you’re paying for it?”

He chuckles darkly, voice gravelly low. “You always this turned on when you're pretending you're not?”

I pause for half a beat and take one sharp breath.

Damn him.

I recover quickly, flipping back to straddle him again, locking eyes with him. The room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.

“This dance ends in five minutes,” I say, dragging a finger down the front of his shirt, “but the memory?” I lean in close, so close our lips nearly touch. “You’ll be jerking off to that for weeks.”

He grins, sharp and wicked. “You wish, Lux.”

I start to slow down the dance, easing him off the edge. But not before one last grind, one last breathless pass of my body over his. I can feel the pulse of tension between us like electricity.

I rise to my feet, pull my robe back on without looking away, and shoot him one last smile.

“Oh no, Finlay. You wish.”

And then I’m gone.

My hips swaying with the kind of pride you can’t buy, leaving Finlay Reed hard, frustrated, and thinking about me.

Just how I like it.

It’s a rare Saturday night when none of us works. It only happens a handful of times a year, and when it does, we don’t waste it. Hair done, makeup dark and dramatic, skirts just short enough to get a warning and not a ticket.

It’s girls' night, and we’re here to dance, drink, and destroy the memory of any man who dares take up space in our heads.

“—and then I walked the hell out,” I say, sipping my cranberry and vodka like it’s holy water.

“Fuck yes, that’s what he gets,” Roxy says, lifting her glass in the air and clinking it against mine. “May his blue balls swell to the size of grapefruits.”

Delaney winces and sips her rosé. “Okay, well, that’s kinda hot and kinda messed up.”

I arch a brow at her. “Messed up? How?”

She shrugs, looking between me and Roxy like she’s the neutral judge in a petty war. “I mean, it’s kinda obvious he’s got a thing for you.”

I nearly choke on my vodka. “Delaney, no. You’ve got it twisted. Finlay doesn’t want me. He wants the idea of me. The one girl who told him no and still isn’t drooling over his multi-million-dollar contract and absurdly perfect jawline.”

“And his arms,” Roxy mutters, smirking. “Let’s not pretend his arms didn’t just drag us back to TikTok thirst traps.”

“You’re not wrong,” I say with a sigh, “but still. He’s all about the chase. If I ever said, ‘Sure, QB, let’s do this,’ he’d ghost me before the sheets cooled.”

“Guys like him are all flash and no follow-through,” Roxy agrees. “Let’s be honest, he’s only this interested because you’re the one thing he can’t sign, throw, or fuck.”

“To hell with Finlay Reed,” I say, standing up like I’m about to lead a revolution. “We’re here to have fun. He’s not hijacking my night. Now get your asses up. It’s dance time.”

We hit the dance floor and begin to move. The bass is thumping, lights strobe across the crowd, and sweat-slicked bodies move in time with the beat. This is where I breathe. Where the world gets quiet and all that matters is the rhythm pulsing through my veins.

Roxy bumps into a guy and flashes him an unapologetic smile.

“I hate dancing with you sometimes,” she shouts over the music. “You make it look so effortless, and I’m out here bowling over people like a drunk toddler on roller skates.”

“It’s not about looking good,” I laugh. “It’s about feeling good.”

She flips me off playfully as she sways her hips, and I grin, letting myself sink into the music. The three of us dance like we’ve got zero responsibilities and all the time in the world.

It’s exactly what I needed. Just me and my girls. No pressure. No rules. No quarterbacks.

Except I can’t stop thinking about him.

And I hate it.

I thought maybe telling them about the lap dance would get it out of my system, but the opposite happened.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it. About how solid his chest felt beneath my hands.

About how his jaw clenched every time I rolled my hips.

About the sounds he made, the way his fists gripped the couch, how his body pulsed with restraint.

I should’ve walked away feeling powerful. Untouchable.

I was in control, but somehow, I left that room feeling like I’d lost something.

My cool, maybe. Or my damn mind.

“Nova,” Delaney says, tugging my arm, “Roxy went to get shots. Let’s go back to the table for a bit.”

I nod, letting her lead me off the floor. “You alright?” she asks as we push through the crowd.

“Of course. Why?”

“You just seemed somewhere else.”

Yeah, well. His name is Finlay Reed, and he’s apparently renting space in my head without a lease.

“I’m good. Promise,” I say, linking my arm through hers. “Just a momentary lapse in brain function. Might’ve been the vodka.”

Or the lap dance.

Or the part of me that liked the way he looked at me.

But instead of saying that, I force a smile and keep walking. Because tonight is about girls, glitter, and getting over him.

The music’s louder now, the drinks stronger, and we’re definitely feeling the full effects of the night. Roxy’s already taken off her heels, Delaney’s cheeks are flushed pink, and I’ve been laughing so hard I had to fix my mascara.

“We need to dance before we lose motor function,” Roxy announces, standing on slightly wobbly legs.

“Agreed,” I say, draining the rest of my drink.

But the second we stand up, three solid, smug-as-hell bodies step into our path like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

“Lux,” Finlay says with that cocky grin, I swear I want to slap and kiss at the same time.

“Fuck you,” I reply without missing a beat, resting a hand on my hip.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, dropping his eyes slowly and purposefully down my body and back up like he’s imagining everything underneath. To be fair, he’s seen most of it.

“I’m not a nice person. What can I say?” I shoot back with a shrug.

“I’m Theo,” says the tall, sleek one, nodding to my girls. “And this is Jace.”

“Hey, beautiful,” Jace adds, flashing a smile like he’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.

“Which one are you talking to, big guy?” Roxy asks, arching a brow like she’s about to throw down if necessary or make out with him, depending on the vibe.

Jace laughs and steps in front of her. “Oh shit, you’re the bartender.”

“Sharp observation, Einstein. I’ll let you keep talking since you’re cute.”

Delaney looks like she’s trying to hide a grin behind her glass. Theo leans a little closer to her, and she doesn’t move away. Interesting.

Finlay, meanwhile, hasn’t stopped staring at me. “You always mean when you drink, or am I just special?”

“Oh, you’re special, alright. A special kind of asshole.”

“Ouch. You wound me, Lux.”

“It’s Nova,” I snap. “I’m off the clock.”

He chuckles and leans down slightly. “Noted. Off the clock and still sexy as hell.”

Roxy snorts. “Gross. Can we get back to dancing before I dry heave?”

“Let’s go,” Jace says, grabbing her hand like he already knows she’ll follow, and damn if she doesn’t.

Theo offers his hand to Delaney with a dazzling grin. “Wanna dance, sweetheart?”

Delaney looks between me and Roxy like she’s checking for backup, but then shrugs. “Sure. Why not?”

“What the fuck!” I yell, hands in the air. “Girls! Where’s the sisterhood? The solidarity? I thought this was a pact!”

Roxy glances back. “You’ll be fine, babe. Try not to punch him in the throat.”

Finlay grins. “Come on, Nova. Let’s dance. We can’t let them have all the fun.”

I drop back down into the chair and cross my legs. “See, that’s the difference between you and me, Reed. I don’t give a shit. You, on the other hand, can’t stand being benched.”

He grins wider. “Football terminology. I see what you did there.”

“Wow, you’re quick,” I deadpan.

“I am known for my quick release.”

I roll my eyes so hard it reminds me how drunk I really am. “Please stop.”

“Come on,” he says, tone suddenly softer. “Just one dance. I won’t even touch you.”

That makes me laugh. Maybe it’s the tequila, or maybe it’s the pure absurdity of this night. Either way, I stand. “Alright, QB. One dance. You keep your hands to yourself, though, or I’ll make good on that throat punch.”

He raises both hands like he’s at gunpoint. “Scout’s honor.”

We move onto the dance floor, and the beat hits hard and fast. It doesn’t take long before we’re moving together. Our bodies in sync like they’ve done this a hundred times.

He watches me dance for a moment, heat in his eyes, jaw tight like he’s clenching every dirty thought behind his teeth.

“Fuck it,” I say, grabbing his hands and placing them on my hips. “You can touch me, but only while we dance.”

That’s all the permission he needs.

His fingers grip tighter, and the way he pulls me against him sends a jolt through my stomach. We move together like the tension between us is driving it. Grinding, teasing, daring. His hands never stray, but it’s enough to make my blood boil and my thighs tighten.

Then the song shifts.

A slower beat. A deeper rhythm. A song made for danger and closeness and feelings I’m not ready to name.

He doesn’t even ask, just slides his hand around my waist and pulls me in. Close enough to feel every inch of him. Close enough that my heart starts beating in time with his.

“Will I see you in the stands tomorrow?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

I swallow. “I don’t know, QB. Do you want to see me?”

His eyes meet mine. Serious. Intense. “More than I should.”

Shit.

I lean back just enough to breathe. Because this is getting too real. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. This was supposed to be a laugh, a taunt, a power move.

But I can feel something shifting in my chest, and that scares the shit out of me.

I can’t go to the game tomorrow.

Not if he’s hoping for it.

Not if I’m wanting it.