Page 15 of Mr. Irrelevant (Rock City Renegades #1)

TWELVE

LIVVY

“Sorry I’m late,” Sydney says as she trudges through the door of my apartment. “I stopped to get gas on the way here, but the card reader told me I had to see the cashier.”

I look up from the couch, where the game against St. Louis is getting ready to kick off. We’ve been watching all the Renegades’ away games here, and it’s been fun because we don’t have to get dressed up or brave the city traffic like we do when they play at home. “Was the line long?”

She scoffs. “I don’t know. I just got back into my car and went somewhere else.

I can’t be seen in public like this.” She gestures at her lounge clothes as if she wasn’t the one who picked them out and put them on.

“What if I run into some hot musician who’s supposed to be the love of my life, but he takes one look at my sweatpants and overgrown roots and says Yeah, no thanks . I can’t risk my future that way, Liv.”

I roll my eyes, huffing a laugh as I turn back toward the TV.

My sister is the most dramatic human being on the planet—she always has been.

When we were kids, it was annoying, but only because our parents spoiled her to no end.

Now that we’re adults, it’s actually pretty funny.

She’s twenty-three, gives no fucks, is completely boy-crazy, and is always down for a good time.

She may send our dad to an early grave with her antics, but I love her.

“Grab the chips before you sit,” I tell her, and she makes her way toward the kitchen just as our offense takes the field for their first drive.

My eyes immediately settle on Maddox, thoughts of what happened between us at the club the other night replaying in my mind and making my stomach flip.

I was shocked when he pulled me into him, saving me from having to leave the dance floor because yet another guy wearing way too much cologne wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I’m used to it—I think most women are—but that was the first time I’d ever been rescued.

Normally, I’d have said I could take care of myself, but the way Maddox glared like he was ready to commit a homicide had every last shred of feminism leaving my body.

By the time the fog cleared from my brain, all I could think about was how wet I was from it and how badly I wanted to keep him close.

It was agony waiting for him to kiss me, and when Bailey showed up, reminding us that we were in a club full of people, he ran as fast as he could out of there.

I don’t blame him for sneaking away. It was irresponsible for us to be seen together at all, let alone a breath away from tasting one another.

If anyone had realized it was him, and it got back to my dad, I’d be in a fuck-ton of trouble.

He’d expect that kind of behavior from Syd, but I’m being prepared to take over the team someday—I can’t be caught in compromising positions with one of his players.

I wish I could’ve at least told him goodbye, because I’m worried things will be awkward tomorrow night when we see each other.

I’ve drafted approximately twenty texts and deleted them all, because what do I even say?

I can’t tell him how badly I wish we weren’t interrupted, because what if he’s glad we were?

Just because I realize how dumb it was for us to do it in public—and that it could potentially screw up the good thing we have going with me coaching him—doesn’t mean I’m not attracted to him.

I tried to ignore it after what happened at the field and his house, blaming it on the fact that I’m so touch-starved, but after he left the club, I realized I didn’t even want to be there anymore.

There were guys all around, some of whom I know and have danced with before…

but they weren’t him . I ended up saying goodbye to my sister and Bailey, then went home to reprimand myself for obsessing over one of the fifty-three people in the world who are off-limits.

I’m a liar. I masturbated. Twice.

I’m not proud of it.

“Why are you spacing?” Sydney asks from where she’s seated beside me.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice she came back.

The Renegades are now on defense with no points on the board, so it’s safe to say the first drive didn’t go well.

That’s okay, though. St. Louis is a decent match for us, so I think it’ll be a great game.

“Sorry,” I reply. “I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.

” Just as the lie leaves my mouth, our defense makes the stop on third down, sending the opponent’s punting team onto the field.

The camera quickly pans to Maddox as he pulls his helmet over his head, and just like before, butterflies take flight deep in my tummy.

He’s so fucking hot, it should be illegal.

“Yeah,” she says, popping a chip into her mouth and chewing. “I love going to the boy zoo just as much as the next girl, but it’s nice to be lazy and lounge every now and then.”

I raise an inquisitive brow. “The boy zoo?”

“Mhmm. We’re behind this big window, watching a bunch of guys roll around on the grass to prove that they’re better and stronger than the others. It’s like a regular zoo, but with boys.”

“You’re not right in the head,” I mumble, focusing my attention on the screen as our offense lines up.

I can tell it’s a passing play before the snap is even made, and I cross my fingers as Maddox rolls back and waits for an open receiver.

Emmett is in double coverage, which we kind of expected with the way he’s been playing, but Jett shakes his defender, continuing his route about twenty yards downfield.

As soon as Maddox sees him, he fires a bullet pass, hitting his target with perfect precision right before the safety makes the tackle.

I jump off the couch, cheering loudly with my arms above my head as the referee confirms the completion.

I remain standing, waiting with bated breath for the guys to take their spots at the new line of scrimmage.

The first play is a run, which gains about four yards.

The second is an incomplete pass, batted down by a lineman almost immediately after leaving Maddox’s hand.

At first, I worry that it may throw him off and rattle his confidence, but his posture doesn’t give anything away as he calls for the next snap.

It’s another passing play, but this time, none of the receivers are able to make a move to get away.

“Go, Mad Dog,” I mumble as the space in front of him spreads apart, leaving a wide-open lane.

Without hesitation, he tucks the ball into his elbow, the muscles in his forearm flexing tightly around it as he takes off.

My hands shoot over my mouth, and I don’t even blink as he runs ten, twenty, thirty yards—somehow managing to break tackles from the defense the entire way.

And when he crosses the plane into the end zone for his first-ever professional touchdown, I go nuts .

An obnoxious shriek leaves my lips, and I jump up and down like a maniac, screaming as if he can hear me, even though we’re on opposite sides of the country.

The camera pans in on his face, and he gives a relieved, knowing smile that I can’t help but wish is meant just for me.

The world fades away for a split second, leaving only the two of us, until the Renegades’ offense rushes him to celebrate.

I laugh as Boomer encourages Maddox to spike the ball, which, of course, he does before they head toward the sideline with a renewed sense of confidence and determination.

“Mad Dog, huh?” Syd quips from behind me, causing me to spin around with my eyes as wide as saucers.

I immediately know I’m busted by the maniacal grin plastered across her face, and my brain attempts to come up with a story that explains why I just used a nickname for Maddox that indicates some level of familiarity.

I haven’t told anyone that I know him beyond just stats on a piece of paper, let alone the fact that I’ve spent every night with him for the past few weeks.

It’s been a tough secret to keep, especially from my sister, who I know I can trust. She may be an absolute wild child, but she’s as loyal as it gets when it comes to her family.

I plop down, chewing on the inside of my cheek nervously.

I don’t know why I’m hesitating. She knows how much football means to me and that I’ll do whatever I can to build the Renegades into a winning franchise.

I have no doubt that she wouldn’t just understand my reasoning for coaching him behind everyone’s back, but she’d encourage it.

“I’ve been working with him,” I say with a cringe.

She sits forward, and I know by the look on her face that I’m about to get hit with about fifty questions. “What do you mean, working with him ?”

“I noticed a few things during his first game—things I knew I could help him improve on. I was the reason Dad brought him to Cleveland in the first place, and I couldn’t stand by and do nothing when I saw him struggling.

So, I followed him out of the stadium that evening and asked him to meet me at the practice facility.

We’ve been doing it every weeknight since, and obviously”—I gesture to the TV—“it’s giving him some extra confidence on the field. ”

Her head tilts in confusion as her brows pull tight. “You’re telling me Dad gave you access to the practice facility and is allowing you to go over the coaching staff’s heads to make his quarterback better? Was he body-snatched?”

I grimace. “He doesn’t know. Nobody does…except you, now.”