Page 4 of Maverick (Playing For Keeps #2)

MAVERICK

Two Weeks Later

Swearing, I threw my car in park and bolted into the stadium.

I was late. I couldn’t believe I was late on my first fucking day with a new team.

Two weeks of nightmarish travel plans that included canceled, rescheduled, then canceled again flights left me with two days to move everything I owned from Georgia to Alabama. I’d hardly broken Auburn city limits in time to see the sunrise—and my couch, seeing as my bed wasn’t ready yet.

I crashed. Hard.

Hard enough to miss my eighteen alarms going off.

By the time I rose from the dead, I didn’t even have time to shower. Instead, I threw together a messy duffle bag and rushed out the door with a premixed protein shake. I chugged it on the ride over, only to immediately regret doing so.

The air was thick and heavy. Mid-July on the Gulf Coast was miserable., and I was about to spend hours training in the heat and humidity. The trip from my car to the stadium was enough to have sweat soaking through my shirt .

I rushed into the locker room to change and upon running onto the field…

Fifty pairs of eyes turned my way.

However, there was one particular pair that caught my attention.

Quinton “Diesel” Webster, the defensive team captain, watched me with a brown-eyed scrutiny that stopped me in my tracks.

He was tall—taller than me—with deep umber skin and long dreadlocks tied into a bundle at the back of his head.

The reminder of another Diesel with similar locs kicked up emotions that I’d rather not feel in front of my teammates. Could he… No, that wasn’t possible.

“Nice of you to join us, Crawford.”

With that, he went back to his speech. I slipped into the crowd, crouching to the ground in order to stay out of the way and trying to ignore the shiver his voice sent down my spine. Was it familiar?

I kicked myself for the thought. Of course it was fucking familiar. He was one of the faces of the Auburn Yellowhammers—his voice was all over ESPN.

Heat burned into my back, but it wasn’t the sun. I was being watched, and I knew by who. Though that was one elephant in the room I had no desire to address. Especially today.

Training was grueling. The sticky Alabama heat seemed to skyrocket once we started moving and in all our gear, it was hell. My stomach roiled, the protein shake from earlier threatening to repeat on me. I was exhausted and to top it all off, my throat hurt.

Unfortunately, the universe was far from finished with me.

Hours later, I stood on the sidelines, chugging Gatorade like my life depended on it and trying everything I could think of to settle my stomach.

Sweat glued my hair to my face and seemed to pour in buckets down my back and over my face, and yet I still shivered.

Then I heard Quinton calling my name in conjunction with one that I’d really rather avoid.

“Crawford! Taylor! Get over here! ”

My feet felt like concrete as I trudged in my captain’s direction.

My stomach flipped, and I swallowed against a bout of nausea.

Reese Taylor was one of the biggest names in the league—and the bane of my existence.

His blond hair and blue eyes and utter… perfection did nothing but boil my blood.

He never faced any consequences for his actions, whether that be drunken antics—or breaking my heart.

The other major thing about Reese Taylor? He was my ex-boyfriend.

Though calling him a “boyfriend” was being generous. “Experiment” was more accurate. We’d played on the same college team in Tuscaloosa and to two closeted guys from small towns, there were a lot of… discoveries to be made—in the bedroom, in the showers…

Reese wasn’t my first, but I was more than prepared for him to be my last. Unfortunately, the feelings were one-sided. It took me way too long to realize that I was nothing more than a hookup to him. I was never good enough—on the field or in the bedroom.

When I didn’t get chosen in the first round of the draft—and he did—he ghosted me. Later, I confronted him at a draft party. He pretended not to know who I was. I left Alabama that night and moved home. My best friend and I moved into a crummy college-town apartment, and I never saw Reese again.

Until now.

I towered half a foot over him, but that never stopped him from intimidating me. When he looked up and his lip quirked into that classic Taylor grin that I used to love, it only fueled my anger. “Good to see you again, Crawford.”

Quinton’s suspicious attention flickered between the two of us. “Is there going to be a problem here?”

“Mav—”

“Not at all,” I said, cutting Reese off before he could air our dirty laundry. “What are we doing?”

Quinton’s silence told me that he didn’t buy a word of my bullshit, but he chose not to call me on it.

The man was an absolute tank, and the last thing I wanted to do was piss him off, so I wasn’t about to get into my history with Reese on the field.

“Block shedders. There’s an hour left before we hit the books. ”

“You got it, Webby.”

So fast that it made me flinch, Quinton had Reese’s shirt in his fist, damn near hauling him off the ground. “Keep trying me, Taylor. I’ll have you benched until your ass rots away.”

Reese snickered, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Quinton let him fall to the floor, and I bit back a grin when Reese stumbled. Our captain turned his attention to me. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“Fine.” I strapped on my helmet. “Just tired.”

Again, he read right through the lie. I might pay for it later, but I just wanted to hurry up and get home, so I averted my gaze. “If you say so…” he finally said. “Make sure you stay hydrated.”

“Sure thing.” As he walked away, I felt like I was being watched and sure enough, Reese was staring a hole through me. “What?”

“You do look a bit rough. You know you can take the day if you need to. We all?—”

“Shut up. Can we just get this over with?”

To avoid further unnecessary conversation, I shoved my mouth guard in place, effectively silencing him.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, the shedding method I’d been using my entire career didn’t have the Taylor seal of approval. “Follow through,” he would tell me.

“Keep your hands on me.” Fat chance of that happening.

“I know you can do better than that.”

On my last attempt, I stumbled. The ground seemed to rotate beneath me, and I needed a minute to gather my bearings.

Turning my back to Reese, I clutched my churning stomach and graciously accepted the water someone handed me.

Maybe I should have turned around and gone home, but it was too late now .

I could sense Reese’s presence and as he grew closer, I tossed the drink aside and spun to face him. “Don’t,” I spat, a bit more venom in my voice than I intended, but I had no extra space for his shit. I was tired, I felt sick, and the ruthless Alabama sun had been beating down on me for hours .

“Wow… Where was this temper years ago?” he chided. I didn’t like the tone in his voice, but he kept yapping before I could make any attempt at shutting him up. “If you’d had this bite back then, maybe you’d have beaten me in the draft.” He choked out a disbelieving laugh. “How’d you even get here?”

We were chest to chest now. My tongue felt like mush in my mouth. I couldn’t speak, even if I wanted to.

“With skills like that, you’ll only make us look bad.”

Hands on his chest, I shoved with everything I had. We hit the ground, Reese going down hard on his shoulder—but not too hard to shove me back. I heard distant shouting, but I was seeing red. Someone grabbed at my shoulder and hauled me away, but not before Reese kicked me right in the stomach.

Shoving the person off, I turned and vomited onto the grass. A moment later, the hand returned, this time soothingly squeezing my shoulder. “Go cool off, now!”

Quinton.

He leaned in close to me. “Go hit the showers. We’ll talk later.”

I didn’t even have it in me to argue anymore.

I trudged back to the locker room, desperate for that shower.

Training days always sucked, but now I tasted vomit in the back of my throat.

I took my time, standing under the cool spray until my body temp came down and my stomach settled enough for the drive home.

Thankfully, bad hangovers in college taught me to keep a toothbrush in my bag.

I stood at the sink brushing, the rest of the team bursting into the clubhouse.

Most rushed straight for the showers, a couple to the bathrooms behind me but thankfully none of them questioned me.

I didn’t come face-to-face with Reese again either .

In recent years, it had become common practice to be “out” in the world of pro sports—especially after Stetson’s very public display last year.

Every league had rules against bullying and discrimination.

Most fans didn’t care as long as it didn’t get in the way of the game, but what happened during practice?

That was sure to disrupt a play. I knew I had to talk about it, but the only thing I was in the mood for right then was a bed.

As I returned to the dressing room, Quinton eyed me like he wanted to say something.

I quickly averted my gaze, turning my back to him to get changed.

Carefully, I slipped my underwear on beneath the towel.

Murmuring kicked up around me. I heard my name in the mix, and Reese’s, who was conveniently missing from the entire equation.

I did what I did best: I ignored it all. Well, I tried to. I wasn’t used to hearing my name everywhere I turned. Reese Taylor, yes, but I’d always been an outcast, had always been looked over for one reason or another, and I wasn’t going to start being the center of attention now.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine… or maybe that was the fever. Is it getting hot in here ? God, I needed to get home.

Thankfully, Quinton came to my rescue. “Alright guys, cut it out. Clearly, they don’t want to talk about it.”

Goosebumps trailed over my skin. The authority in Quinton’s voice did things to me that had me dressing in a hurry—things that were only made worse when he sidled up nice and close to my back.

A thick arm stretched out in front of me, snatching my can of deodorant.

My brows furrowed but my heart stopped altogether when he muttered under his breath, “We all have our secrets. Don’t we, princess? ”