Page 3 of Touchdown, Tennessee

The blood in my veins changed rapidly, going from stone cold to molten hot.

Like desperation.

Like shame.

Out here on this field was the one place where the rest of the world should melt away, but for all of tonight’s game, I’d been focused on something else, and pure, red-hot anger was barreling at me like a semi truck named Dev Bailey. My own distraction was about to cost me the touchdown.

I thought I had a clean path on the field. But there was no avoiding it now.

I was about to be tackled.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, already thrown off-kilter. How could I not have seen him?

“Got you,” I heard Bailey mutter under his breath. “Fuckinggotyou, Peachel.”

And then his body slammed into mine.

I went down hard onto the grass. My arm hit the ground and he had me pinned a moment later.

I heard the roar of the crowd change.

Excitement morphing into disappointment, all at once.

It was a good play, and I knew Bailey deserved the tackle. I could almost feel happy for him, if I wasn’t blindingly fucking upset with myself.

I could already sense the death stare I was going to get from Coach Ennick.

When Coach was let down, the whole team could feel it.

And since I was Coach’s new favorite player, I knew I was going to be in the crosshairs.

And by the way, Coach, I was dick deep in your son until he broke my heart a few weeks ago.

Don’t even want to imagine how you’d react to that.

As I got up from the grass, crystal-blue eyes followed me. Gray Gilman was already calculating how to take me down in the article. I could feel it. It was like he was a new point of gravity at the edge of the field, a place where my attention got sucked up like a black hole.

I finally made eye contact with him.

He was looking at me like he wanted to destroy me even though I’d never spoken to him before.

I was usually nice to everybody, but I’d just lost a game that should have been an easy win. If some straight-A student reporter with a big ego thought he could fuck with me?

He was going to meet my own ego real fuckin’ fast.

“That was bullshit,” Luke told me as we headed off to the edge of the field, jogging up beside me. “You deserved better for catching a passthatclean.”

I yanked off my helmet, running my hand through my hair.

I was hot.

I needed this gearoffof my body, right now.

“I don’t know if I deserved better,” I told Luke. “I fucked up.”

“You’re sad,” Luke said, watching as I stared down at the grass on the field because I couldn’t stand to watch the crowd streaming out of the stands. “I don’t like sad-Andrew. What would make you feel better right now?”

I flicked my gaze up at him. “Changing the rules of football, maybe?”