Page 9 of Flag On The Play (Gridiron Warriors #5)

NOVA

“ I t was heartbreaking.” I swirl the wine in my glass before finishing what’s left and reaching for the bottle again. “We weren’t neighbors long, but I’d run into them every now and then when I was in town. His dad always remembered me. Always smiled like he knew something I didn’t.”

Roxy and Delaney are leaning in, eyes on me like I’m telling some kind of scandalous bedtime story, but this one doesn’t come with a happy ending.

“I never understood, or maybe I just didn’t care enough to ask why Finlay was never around. I just figured he was too busy being, you know, Finlay.” I shake my head and pour another glass. “But when I heard from my mom that his dad had cancer, I went to visit. Just once.”

Delaney’s brows rise. “You never told us that.”

I shrug, the memory still sitting heavy on my chest. “Because nothing really happened. We didn’t talk about anything exciting. Just weather, polite smiles, small talk. But when I was walking out, he said, ‘I don’t have time to make things right, but you do.’”

Delaney reaches out and places her hand on my knee, her touch gentle and comforting. “That sounds like the kind of thing a dying person says when they’re looking back on life and trying to find peace.”

“Exactly,” I reply. “But it stuck with me. I didn’t know what he meant at the time. I figured he had regrets, sure, but not that the regret was Finlay. Not that it had anything to do with me.”

Roxy leans forward, one hand dramatically clutching her chest. “Are you telling me a dying man told you to forgive his dickhead of a son?”

“I think so, yeah. I think that’s exactly what he was trying to say.”

Delaney’s eyes soften again. “He probably saw something in the two of you that neither of you wanted to admit was there.”

Roxy scoffs. “Or he saw her dancing in Finlay’s VIP booth and assumed they were halfway to eloping in Vegas.”

I shoot her a glare. “Rox. I visited him long before that.”

“I’m kidding! Sorta.” She takes a sip of her own drink and sets it down.

“Look, I get the whole meaningful final words from the dying guy thing, I really do. But don’t get swept up in it, Nova.

Grief does weird things to people. Finlay being uncharacteristically sweet at the funeral doesn’t erase the fact that he’s a cocky ass with a hero complex. ”

“I know,” I say, trying not to let on how much I wish it did mean something, show on my face. “But it did shake me.”

“Of course it did,” Delaney says gently.

“And he looked good,” I admit, groaning immediately after. “Damn it, he did. All put together in that tailored suit, quiet and strong. There was no smirk, no smartass comment. Just Finlay, raw and human.”

“Oh no,” Roxy mutters dramatically. “You’re catching feelings.”

“I am not!” I snap, a little too quickly.

“You so are,” she grins, victorious. “That’s the only explanation for why you're sitting here defending Funeral Finlay like he’s a Disney prince. You think his sad eyes and tragic backstory give him a redemption arc.”

“I know who he is,” I say, my voice firmer this time. “I’ve seen the smirks. The cocky comments. The stupid grin that says I know you want me, Nova. That guy? He hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“And yet…” Delaney says, raising a brow. “You still went to the funeral.”

“I didn’t go for him,” I argue, even though a tiny voice in my head whispers liar. “I went for his father because he was kind. Because he deserved someone to honor him.”

“Sure,” Roxy drawls. “And the sexy, brooding quarterback son was just a bonus.”

I toss a pillow at her, and she laughs, ducking. “I hate you both.”

“You love us,” Delaney grins.

“Fine, I tolerate you,” I mutter, taking another sip of wine. “But I’m not getting sucked into this Finlay vortex. He was grieving. People act weird when they’re sad. It doesn’t mean he’s changed.”

“Okay,” Roxy says with a shrug, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “But just promise me if he shows up again, you won’t let his sad boy charm trick you into thinking he’s Prince Charming. He’s not.”

I nod, but the truth is, I don’t know what he is anymore.

He’s not the high school quarterback who thought the world belonged to him.

He’s not the cocky player who stormed back into my life with a cocky smirk when he saw me on stage at Heaven’s Edge.

He’s not even the smug bastard from the Backstage booth.

He’s all of those things and none of them.

And that’s the part that scares me most.

Because suddenly, I’m not sure if I want to shove him away or see what happens if I let him in.

It’s been three weeks since the funeral.

The first Sunday after, I told myself I was going to his game just to see how he'd play after such a loss. Strictly observational. No emotional investment. I expected him to fumble, literally. But instead?

He blew me away.

Not a single misstep. No sacks. No off-target throws. Just perfect passes, powerful plays, and that stupid, confident swagger he wears so well. And week after week, it’s been the same. Focused. Sharp. Dominant.

I hate admitting it, but it’s exciting to watch him play.

I hate it even more that I get a little thrill every time I see him walk into Heaven. He always shows up during my set. Never approaches me. Just watches. That smug bastard.

It’s like this silent, seductive stand-off. Equal parts irritating and addictive.

“Lux, you’re being requested to the Backstage,” Max calls out, popping his head into the dressing room.

“Bet it’s that quarterback again,” Candy singsongs from the mirror, applying her signature glittery lipstick with all the finesse of someone who knows she’s a goddess.

My stomach flips. I don’t know if it’s excitement, nerves, or the fact that I haven’t eaten since 2 p.m.

“Probably,” I murmur, touching up my own lipstick, pretending like my hands aren’t slightly shaking.

Candy grins. “You realize he only pays attention to the stage when you’re on it, right?”

“What? No.” I pause. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, honey, it’s painfully true. I’ve been watching him watch you for weeks now. That fine-ass man is yours for the taking.”

“Too bad he’s such a raging asshole.”

She chuckles as she stands to adjust her outfit. “Sweetie, assholes make the best lovers. They’ve got something to prove. Keep the feelings out of it and I guarantee you’ll discover the kind of sex that rewires your brain.”

Then she struts onto the stage like she didn’t just drop a truth bomb on me, leaving me sitting there, jaw slack, mind in the gutter, imagining Finlay yelling touchdown at climax.

I groan and shake my head violently to clear the image.

“Lux, your VIP is waiting,” Max calls again, more impatient this time.

I sigh, take a deep breath, and push away the barrage of emotions swirling in my chest. I’ve got a job to do. Fantasy to sell.

But the second I open the door, my body goes cold.

It’s not Finlay.

It’s some random, eager-eyed guy who looks at me like I’m dessert. “Lux,” he says, breathless. “Wow, you’re even more beautiful up close.”

I smile, tight-lipped. “No touching.”

I drop the robe and go through the motions. Straddle, grind, tease. But every move feels mechanical. Like muscle memory, not desire. His hands grip the couch like he’s fighting for control, while I’m fighting not to yawn.

It’s the first time in my entire time here that I feel nothing during a dance. And that, somehow, feels worse than feeling everything.

As soon as it’s over, I throw on my clothes, wave at Roxy behind the bar, and book it out the door. The second the cool night air hits my skin, I finally breathe.

“Nova.”

Shit.

I turn, arms crossed, scowl ready. “What, Finlay?”

I hate how fast my heart leaps just seeing him. And I really hate that I’m annoyed. Not because he’s here, but because he wasn’t in the Backstage.

He steps out from the shadows, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, hair tousled from his stupidly perfect head. “Are we seriously just going to keep watching each other from across the room and pretending that’s not a thing?”

I shrug. “Works for me. Or maybe we just stop altogether.”

He huffs out a laugh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Is it possible for you to talk to me without a full-blown attitude?”

“Is it possible for you to stop breathing down my neck like some brooding quarterback stalker?”

“What do you want, Nova?”

“I was gonna ask you that.”

He smirks. “Fine. Jace is throwing a party next weekend. He’s inviting Roxy. Theo’s planning to ask Delaney.”

His grin makes my stomach flutter and my fists clench simultaneously.

“So?” I ask, voice flat.

“So, I’m inviting you.”

I arch a brow. “Wow, thanks. What am I? The pity invite? The third string backup date since everyone else got drafted?”

His smile drops, replaced by something more raw. More honest. “Jesus, Nova. No. My friends asked your friends because I told them I was inviting you. I thought maybe it would give you an actual reason to show up. To stop glaring at me from a distance like you’re plotting my murder.”

“I mean, I might be plotting your murder.”

He lets out a humorless laugh and steps closer.

“You know what? I thought this was me trying. Thought maybe if I came to your world, cheered you on from the shadows, you’d meet me halfway.

But no. You’re so set on keeping me the villain in your high school drama, you can’t even see that I’ve changed. ”

“Oh, please,” I bite back. “You’re just mad I’m not falling into your arms like every other woman does. Just like high schoo,l and I’m over high school.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m mad because I keep trying, and you keep slamming the door in my face like we’re seventeen and I just egged your locker.”

That hits harder than I want it to.

He starts to walk away, then turns back to me one last time.

“You say you’re over high school, Nova? Then stop living in it. I’m not that guy anymore, but maybe you’re still that girl.”

And then he’s gone.

And damn it, he’s right.

I am still that girl.

The one who always has her guard up to make sure everyone knows she’s not the one to fuck around with. She’s not the one who wants her heart broken.

But maybe it’s time I figure out if I’m ready to be someone else.