And one of our cornerbacks comes up with the ball.
Red—or in today’s case, black—ball.
The sound is deafening.
A minute and a half to play with two timeouts.
Ball on our own fifteen.
Time for Trav to lead our boys to victory.
Not one person retakes their seat.
Yard by yard, they march downfield.
Ten seconds left on the clock. Trav pump-fakes and hands the ball off to Mase, who runs it in for a nineteen-yard touchdown.
The extra point is good.
The game clock ticks down to zero, and the U of J Hawks are now the Big Ten East Division champions.
The goalposts come down as thousands of U of J fans rush the field, the green turf becoming a sea of black.
G and CK help me over the railing so we can join the melee, and I run for the Hawks’ bench, needing the extra height advantage it will lend me if I’m to have any hope of finding my man in the crush of people now on the field.
Of course he sees me first, his long legs already eating up the distance between us. He looks so fucking sexy, helmet in hand, mouthguard pinched between his teeth, hair in sweaty disarray from playing.
“Congra—” Arms band around me, lifting me from the bench so he can kiss me breathless.
Even through the fleece lining of my leggings, I feel the coolness of the helmet as it presses under the curve of my ass when my legs wrap around Mase’s waist. I cling to him like a monkey, not giving a damn about his sweat-soaked jersey, the cheering fans, his celebrating teammates, or the constant strobe of camera flashes. Nothing matters except for this kiss.
His tongue licks across the seam of my mouth and I open, the hint of orange left over from the Gatorade lingering as I stroke it with mine.
“NOVA!” Trav shouts. “We just finished a football game—stop playing tonsil hockey and get your ass over here.”
I unhook my ankles, expecting him to lower me to the ground, only to shriek when I’m hoisted over his shoulder. “Mase.” I smack his delicious-looking ass. Yes, I said delicious. Do I need to remind you? Football pants. “Put me down.”
“Hell no, Skittles.” It’s his turn to slap my ass, only he follows it up with a honka-honka of the cheek he abused. “You’re my trophy.”
From my upside-down vantage point, I make out four sets of cleats and the familiar pairs of Jordans and Chuck Taylors as Mase steps inside the circle of our friends.
I go from one set of arms to another, being passed between the guys like I really am their trophy. I’m too damn proud of them to mind.
Eventually the reporters find their way to our small cluster, each vying for the first postgame interviews with the stars. Mase wraps an arm around my shoulders, tucking me against his side, his helmet coming up to obscure my face as he starts to back away.
I fall for him a little bit more at how he instinctually shifts to keep me out of the public eye. Yes it’s true I’m doing my best to ignore the attention on us on the school’s Instagram, but being with him during a national television interview is next level.
“Mase.” I place a hand to the flat of his stomach. “Stop.” I jerk a chin toward Trav. “Go. This is your moment.”
His eyes narrow, displaying his displeasure. “No. I want to be with you. They can interview me in the locker room.”
As swoony as I think the statement is, I won’t allow it. He’s earned this moment in the spotlight—he needs to bask in it. Plus, this is exactly the type of press coverage that will help him come draft time in the spring.
The draft. *readjusts bow* Talk about something you don’t want to discuss.
“No.” I reach up to cup his scruffy jaw, my thumb running along the stubble. “You’ve earned this. Let your star shine bright.”
His hand covers mine on his face, palm warm and dirty. “Fine.” He strokes along the back of my knuckles. “I don’t like it, but fine.”
He swoops in for one last kiss before letting me go then whistles to grab G’s attention. It’s only once I’m safely flanked by him and CK that Mason allows himself to be pulled into the closest reporter’s interview.
I chance a peek as we walk away, and the smile on his face is as bright as the stadium lights above. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the first of many interviews he will be doing throughout his career.
“Come on, Smalls.” G plucks at the pom on the top of my hat, bringing my attention his way. “Let’s get you a coffee the size of your head to get you in the party mood.”
Right, victory party at the AK house. Oh, the joy—not!
#Chapter60
UofJ411: Someone’s fired up #LetMeAtEm #CasanovaWatch
*boomerang of Mason being held back during the coin toss*
@It.sgottabethebooks: Better look out @TightestEndParker85. Our @CasaNova87 will kick your ass today in more ways than one #PassThePopcorn
@JJennifermarie119: I put my money on @CasaNova87 any day of the week over @TightestEndParker85. #PlacingBets
UofJ411: That HAD to have hurt #Ouch
*boomerang of Kev tackling Liam*
@Hbietsch: I know @TightestEndParker85 isn’t the quarterback, but this right here is why we call #91 @SackMasterSanders91 #BaggedLunch #HowsTheTurfTaste?
@Heymom05: @TightestEndParker85 #DoYouNeedSomeIce?
@Hippychick782000: Awww…do you have a boo-boo @TightestEndParker85 #WhatABaby
UofJ411: Now THAT’S a kiss #InstaWorthy #Kaysonova
*picture of Mason kissing Kay on the field*
@JJUllom: All the heart eyes *heart eyes emoji* #KingAndQueen #Kaysonova
@Juliedreamsofbooks: Talk about a Kodak moment #PicturePerfect #FootballRoyalty #Kaysonova
UofJ411: Not your typical trophy #HoistMeUp #Kaysonova
*picture of Mason carrying Kay over his shoulder after the game*
@Kmford2317: @CasaNova87 could carry me away ANY day of the week #CasanovaWatch #ClaimingHisTrophy #Kaysonova
#Chapter61
The victory party is already well underway by the time we arrive to a hero’s welcome at the Alpha house. With showers and post-game interviews, the whole thing took much longer than I would have liked, and I’m itching to get to my girl.
The house is packed wall to
