76

Ryan

No Fouls, No Fumbles, No Fucking Overtime

The phone call didn't embarrass me in the slightest.

Both Adam and King had a good laugh about it in the morning but I just grinned. No reason to be embarrassed when I had a girl worth doing all that over, waiting for me back at home.

Louisiana was one item after another to check off. The coach meetings, the dinners, and the hard practices where all of us put in our hundred and twenty percent because we knew we were being watched that often. Every play was calculated. On and off the field.

When it came time to the game, we were as ready as we'd ever been.

We were required to be at the stadium at five o'clock in the morning. Drills, runs, stretches, we pushed ourselves to the brink because that's what this game was. A demonstration of how we'd been acing every game of the season and a promise for what was to come.

"I'm not expecting you to be perfect," Coach Lawson reminded us, in the middle of his pregame speech. He gave everyone a hard look. The look of our coach that'd lead us to a continuous winning streak, the closest any of us had been to the Birchwood Bowl. "If I wanted each of you to be the best, we wouldn't win these games. I'm expecting you to be the perfect team ."

Everyone nodded around the room. Me, most of all.

"If you think you can't do that, get the hell off the field." He thumbed towards the exit. "This isn't about you . This is about your team . What you can do with your team, what you can do for your team."

Cheers followed it. We were ready for Louisiana.

With a nod, Coach Lawson allowed me to take the floor.

When I'd agreed to the captain role, I'd been warned that handling a team like the Romans meant putting your tension and doubt in the back seat. None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was making sure that they knew how confident I was in our winning streak to continue.

"Three things." I held up my fingers, counting down. "No fouls. No fumbles. And no fucking overtime."

Eyes were trained on me. Everyone was quiet.

"There is no goddamn reason we don't win," I told them. "We're Texas. We're Marrs University. We're the fucking Romans . We do this with everything we've got and we're out of here and one step closer to the Birchwood Bowl."

And I can get the hell back home.

The energy in the locker room was infectious and I grinned while the guys clapped me on the back, getting ready for the game. Adrenaline was a strong taste. It burned in the air. We were as fucking ready as we'd ever be.

"Cross?" Coach Lawson called to me and barked at the assistant coaches and assistants to get out to the field. He shifted back to me, scratching his beard. "The girls are at the training center. Your girlfriend's with them. Ms. Bennight told me to tell you."

I nodded, keeping my voice low. "My fake girlfriend."

"Sure."

Coach Lawson didn't smile before the games. It was a kind of tradition all of us recognized, he saved it until after we won. But if I didn't know him as much as I did, I could've sworn I saw his mouth twitch.

"You know, Cross." He folded his arms over his chest. "Reporters asked Ms. Ragar how I could bring the Romans to Birchwood victory without the experience that Georgia and Alabama have. And she said—and I know I'm quoting this right—they could gargle cock if they wanted to talk about me again."

"To be fair—coach—that was in September." I shifted back. "She apologized for that."

"I know. And on the record? That comment wasn't befitting for the Romans or the image we're working for." He lifted his shoulders. "Off the record? Well, my wife bought me a digital photo album for my office at home. It's got all the good articles on it. That's number sixteen."

I stared at him, surprised.

"She's a good one, Cross." He shifted back to leave but reconsidered and held up his hand. "Just don't piss her off."

"I don't intend to, sir," I said, trying not to grin.

He nodded and clapped me on the shoulder like everybody else, heading back towards his team of defense and offense coaches, the horde of assistants that followed after him everywhere he went. I took a long moment in the locker room, gazing around at the team, getting ready before I followed after him.

I burst into the quiet hallway. "Coach!"

Coach Lawson glanced back, his eyebrows raised.

The rest of his entourage stared at me and I debated on my words for only a moment.

"I love her," I told him.

For a moment, the hallway was silent. Finally, my coach frowned at me. " And? "

"Uh, the contract—"

"Cross." Coach Lawson reached up for his Romans cap and tugged it off. "You're twenty minutes away from the most important game of your career so far. Let's focus on football ."

"Uh…yes, sir."

He waved his hand at me, turning to leave. "And stop going around saying shit that everybody already knows."

A grin split across my face and I took the steps back to the locker room, pleased as hell. The locker room was a roar of anticipation and I started getting ready for real. It was time to kick some ass in Louisiana.