Page 52 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

CAL

G reen Bay starts with the ball this half, and I’ve never been so restless to be sitting on the sidelines while the defense is on the field. We hold the line, and within minutes I’m back on the field.

I spit on my gloves, rubbing them together to keep my hands warm.

If I drop the ball today, I won’t forgive myself.

Lila would never withhold sex just because I lost a game or didn’t score, but it’s so much sweeter if I earn it like this.

And even if we didn’t have our little bet going, I want a ring.

Theo makes the first catch, putting him at over a hundred receiving yards so far this game, something I only know because they flash it on the screen behind his headshot.

We near the end zone but can’t finish, although I do end up with a few more rushing yards to add to my post-season stats.

Becker, our kicker steps up with special teams as we swap places on the field, and every person in the stadium holds their breath as he attempts a field goal at fifty-three yards, a career record for him by eight yards.

It’s just shy, hitting the crossbar with a DING that echoes across the stadium right before a roar starts from the home side of the field.

We hold them off in their next drive attempt, keeping our lead going into the fourth.

“Alright, we have one maybe two more drives in this game. We don’t want to go into OT,” Thompson hypes us up as we huddle in time-out. “Let’s get it done this drive. Make it a two-score game.” We break, each of us determined to do our part for the game.

The ball finds its way to my hands first, and I get the first down, feeling pleased with myself, even with over half a field left to go. Theo takes it another five, Blaze runs the last five himself, and we’re on the other side of the field, closer to our final goal.

“Hail Mary, they won’t expect it.” Blaze says quietly. I frown, I need to block, to give him time in the pocket, but if we get it, we might have time for another drive.

He hikes the ball, dropping back as we hold the line, giving him time to find the receivers sprinting down the field. He throws, and we all watch as it flies through the air, headed straight for Matthews with only a single man covering.

That single cornerback knows what he’s doing though, because just as our receiver stretches his arms out to snag the ball, the CB snatches it out of the air, bringing it down in a roll for an interception.

Blaze hangs his head.

“Hey, shake it off. We’ll have at least one more drive now. And that was a beautiful ball.” I tell him, Thompson nodding along with me.

He shrugs, moving off to sit with the QB coach at the end of the bench.

Our defense is cold and tired. They’ve been playing with the best of them against a veteran quarterback and a wicked-fast running game. No one can blame them when they miss one of the Green Bay receivers sneaking past and bringing it in for a touchdown.

The extra point is good, and once more we’re fully tied up—in the fourth quarter with three minutes counting down on the clock.

Green Bay calls a time-out, likely to throw us off our game, but we use the time game planning.

“McClane, you’ve been hot tonight. But you’re getting double teamed almost every play. If you can get open, it’s yours but you have to get open.”

“Got it.” Theo’s face is hard with determination.

“Basset, I know you want a touchdown. Get open and make it happen, and I’ll get you the ball.” I nod. “We’ll play you as a third receiver this drive. If there’s a blitz the runners can play short pass. We need to move the ball.”

The timer is counting down and we need to move back out on the field before we get penalized for delay of game.

“Avalanche on three.”

“One, Two ,Three, Avalanche!” we shout in unison, taking our places along the line of scrimmage, ready to end this game on our terms.

We move slowly and methodically down the field, with short, quick passes guaranteed to connect and gain yards. Our three minutes slowly ticks by, and we’re barely in field goal range when we hit the dreaded last two minutes of non-stop play.

We make it to the red zone with thirty seconds left on the clock. I take off as soon as we’re set and Blaze has the ball. The receivers spread out as the lineman fight to protect the pocket, even as Blaze dodges the defensive tackle who slipped through.

I have space and look back to Blaze, who sees it too and the ball soars toward me the same moment the fullback changes direction.

I jump, and the world slows down around me.

My fingers lock around the ball, pulling it from the air as I tuck it into my chest, landing on one foot then the other.

As I pivot to start my run, I see, with horror, the two-man coverage that had been on Theo moments ago, both with a new target in mind. Me .

I lock eyes with Theo who drops back and to the outside as I continue forward, and as you can only do with someone you’ve known since childhood, I understand what he’s suggesting.

I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, still letting the world move at a glacial pace around me and say goodbye to winning my bet as I secure the ball in my right hand, orienting my fingers along the laces, something I usually don’t bother with.

The stadium is silent around me, and I can hear my heartbeat ticking along.

As my eyes open, the world resumes a normal pace, catching up with me, and I let the ball fly parallel and back half a yard to the outside of the field where Theo now moves alone, with a free lane to run. And run he does.

All the way into the end zone.

The sound roars back to life around me as my teammates converge.

“You fucking dog!” Blaze screams at me as he hugs me from behind. “I thought you couldn’t throw.”

I laugh and pull myself free. “I can’t really, not like you. But I have thrown a football before Meadows.”

He cocks his head, listening to the radio communication in his helmet.

“We’re going for two.”

I glance at him shocked. I know the statistics, but stats aren’t people. People don’t make rational decisions. It’s a much safer bet to go for the extra point and give us another shot in overtime than to risk everything on a final conversion.

But I’m not the coach, so I line up with the rest of the offense on the two-yard line.

Blaze drops back into the pocket, and I find a spot in the end zone, only one defenseman following me to my back corner.

I box him out as the ball comes straight toward me—toward my knees more accurately—and I dive forward scooping it out of the air and twisting to land on my back.

The ball is securely cradled to my chest leaving no room for a challenge or possibility of a flag.

I lay there, trying to catch my breath and it takes me a minute to realize we won.

We’re going to the NFC Championship. And I had the final catch.

The game-winning catch.

A smile creeps onto my face of its own accord because it knows what I know. I think that will count as a score.

Theo stands above me, offering me a hand up and I take it.

There’s a camera right there, capturing the whole moment, and before I let my team congratulate me, I hold the ball up with one hand and point to where Lila sits.

Blaze catches my eye as he jogs over to us and winks, and then the team converges, and I can’t see anything but white jerseys and blue helmets. As if I would want to.

I get a media request which I barely sit still through, though the questions are much more positive than my last appearance.

“I really owe my performance today to my girlfriend,” I announce. “She’s my biggest supporter and without her I wouldn’t have played like I did today.” They love that. When my time is up, I rush through my shower and open my phone to see a few texts from Lila.

Lila

A win is a win.

I’m not sure that should really count as scoring, but since it was the game winning play AND you got the two-point conversion, I guess I don’t mind.

I smile. How did I get so fucking lucky with this woman. I make quick work of booking a room for the night. There’s no way I’m waiting until I get home to see her, and we can ride back together in the morning.

Room 314 at the Hyatt. You’re on the reservation.

I want you on your knees in nothing but my jersey when I get there.

I’m see her response as I’m getting dressed and wish I hadn’t.

Lila

Yes sir.

My cock strains against the towel, and I pray no one is paying too close attention. I dress quickly and tell coach I’m not taking the plane home tonight. The Uber crawls along amidst the traffic away from the stadium until finally I see the hotel a few blocks away.

I hurry through the lobby and straight to the room.

Coming up now.

There’s still no response as I step off the elevator and move to unlock the door with my phone key.

“Lila?” I call out into the dark hotel room. There’s no response, but there’s music playing from where the bed must be further in. It’s a corner room, and I can’t see the bed from the door.

I drop my bag in the entryway, throwing off my coat.

My hands pause on my belt before sliding the strap back into the loops.

I kick off my shoes, my foot catching in a piece of fabric, and I have to catch myself against the wall, swearing.

I snatch the scrap of offending lace and steady myself on the wall again for an entirely different reason.

Her fucking panties .

I fist them and feel the dampness still there, and my knees buckle.

I bring my fist to my mouth to muffle my groan, and her scent fills my nose, the sweet musk hardening my cock painfully against my zipper.

I inhale deeply and drop my fist, still clutching the panties.

If Lila wants to play, I can fucking play.