Page 29 of Touchdown, Tennessee

Ready to enter battle, in the form of trading glares at Gray Gilman.

But he wasn’t here.

Fucking hallelujah, right?

I jogged over to the side of the field where Luke had been running drills all morning. The sky was overcast today, but sweat still dripped down every part of me as I popped off my helmet, shaking my hair loose.

“Coach still pissed from the other day?” Luke asked me, glancing up as he popped out of a set of push-ups, looking like a picture-perfect quarterback.

“I wouldn’t say pissed. More like vaguely threatening. If I don’t play better next game,thenit could venture into ‘pissed’ territory.”

“Good shit out there, anyway.”

Everything felt easy during practice.

Looking around the field now, the stands were all empty. Quiet. Peaceful.

Real games were loud and chaotic in the best way. Usually it was what fueled me. The hype of the crowd. The fact that IknewI was being watched.

But an athlete is only as good as their last game, and now I felt like I had something to prove.

We went into the locker rooms and showered off a few minutes later. I waited for Luke at the exit, because we always tended to walk back together.

I pulled my phone out of the side pocket of my duffel bag, checking the screen.

There was a text.

Gray: Miss me?

An electric spark moved through my chest.

Andrew: Knew I’d regret giving you this number.

Don’t worry. I’ll be there tonight.

Where, exactly?

A hand clapped me on the back, startling me.

“I’m so ready for tonight,” Luke said. “I don’t care how basic it is, pumpkin spice is my fuckingjam.”

“Am I missing something?”

“Only thing you’re missing is a whisk in your hand and an apron covering those abs.”

I ran a hand through my hair, realization dawning on me like a brick to the face.

“Fuck. The charity bake-off.”

“We were talking about ityesterday, Peachel,” Luke said.

“I know. I just… forgot, like I always do.”

I felt heat rising to the back of my neck. I didn’t know why it was so damn hard for me to keep track of anything that wasn’t football. It was like my mind was a sieve, ready to filter out anything that had to be scheduled.

And it fucking sucked.

It made me feel like I was permanently one step behind everybody else.