“Leo, I need you in the press room — now,” I said, tugging him by his grass-stained jersey.
He made a joke that I didn’t quite hear, because our intern was screaming into her headpiece about how Holden was being surrounded on the field and couldn’t break loose.
“I’m on it,” I said into my mic, and then I released Leo, hoping he would make it the rest of the way down the hall to where we’d set up our press box before I was jogging out onto the field.
It was complete madness, the kind only a Thanksgiving Day game can bring.
The kind only a bowl-clutching game can bring.
It was like we’d already won the championship, how confetti of our school’s gold and brick red colors littered the field. I weaved through the still-buzzing crowd on my way out to the fifty-yard line, where an extensive group of cameras and reporters were gathered around Holden.
“Yeah, we’re just staying focused and keeping our eyes on the next game,” he answered as I pushed through the wall.
“You’re not thinking about the playoff bowl game against the Huskies?” a reporter asked, shoving the microphone back in Holden’s face.
“We’ll worry about that when we get there. For now, it’s on to North Carolina.”
I stepped in-between him and the crew. “If you can all please make your way to the press room, we will have full interviews with the players, including Leo Hernandez who is setting up now. Holden will be in later. Thank you.”
I didn’t wait for them to start shouting more questions despite me telling them we were done on the field before I was ushering Holden away — which was comical, since he towered over me and was at least twice my mass.
“Thank you,” he uttered as we moved through the crowd.
“You know, you’re bigger than me. You could have stopped that way before I did.”
“I don’t want to be rude. I’m captain. If anyone needs to field the rabid reporters, it’s me.”
I smiled. “You’re too good for the world, Holden Moore.”
When we finally got to the tunnel that led into the stadium, security warded off anyone not on or with the team. Holden ambled toward the locker room while I set straight for the press room.
It was only maybe sixty seconds, that walk of quiet, but it was just enough to let my mind drift to Clay.
A month.
It’d been almost a month since we broke up, and I still couldn’t think of him without my entire body curling in on itself. I wasn’t lying around broken and pathetic, but I was certainly far from moved on, far from forgetting him or even so much as thinking about trying to date someone else.
Every time I saw him out on the field, my heart warmed with the desire to cheer him on, to be the one he ran to after the game, the one he swept into his arms. Then, I’d hate myself for it, and do everything I could to avoid him — only to be sick when I didn’t see him even more than when I did.
I pretended like I didn’t notice him when my every sense was tuned into him, so much so that I had more than a few questions burning into my brain. One of the most pressing was why I hadn’t seen him with Maliyah in over a week now. She no longer hung onto him after every practice, or tried to suck his face off after a game.
They seemed friendly, cordial, but… not romantic.
Why I was so engrossed in the details, I didn’t know. Masochism was something I was becoming well-suited for, I supposed.
But today, it had been especially impossible to ignore him.
He’d had quite possibly the most monster game of his career. He had not one interception, not two, but three — and one of them he ran back for a touchdown. He was on fire, and I knew the reporters would be clamoring to talk to him after that.
I just didn’t know how I would find enough professionalism to talk to him without bursting into tears.
I shook my head, deciding I could deal with it later. Right now, I had Leo to wrangle, and then an exclusive interview with Riley and Zeke that they’d promised me if we won today.
“Oh, perfect,” I said as I rounded the corner into the press room, finding Zeke and Riley already standing back behind the logo wall we’d erected. I could hear Leo answering questions, making the entire room laugh as always. “Now I don’t have to hunt you two down. Are you both ready to go on next?”
“Born ready,” Riley said, and she and Zeke exchanged a look that made my smile slip.
“What was that?”
“What?” Zeke asked.
I pointed between them. “That… look you just gave each other.” I balked. “Oh, my God. You’re not about to drop some crazy bomb on live television, are you? Are you engaged or something?” My heart dropped as I looked at Riley. “Fuck, are you pregnant?”
Even though I whispered that last bit, Riley’s eyes went wide as saucers before she socked me in the arm.
“Ow,” I said, rubbing the spot.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “We’re giving you the exclusive about our relationship like we promised we would all season. We just wanted to make sure we were focused and could secure this game first. And don’t even whisper about things like that,” she added, not even daring to speak the word pregnant out loud again. “You’ll start a whole rumor chain.”
I frowned, still rubbing my arm as I surveyed them, but didn’t have the time to pry deeper into whatever they were hiding before Charlotte gave Leo the last question sign from beside the podium stage.
“Okay, you’re up,” I told them, and as soon as Leo stepped off the platform, Riley and Zeke took his place.
Cameras flashed like mad.
Everyone spoke over each other, trying to get the couple’s attention for the first question as Zeke held out Riley’s chair for her to sit before he did the same. They shared an adoring look, Zeke grabbing Riley’s hand and holding it on top of the low table as a hundred more flashes assaulted them.
“Joe,” Zeke called out first, nodding toward a well-known reporter from the local sports station. We always liked to show him favor when we could — mostly because the local station covered all the university sports, and because Joe was actually a nice reporter focused more on football than gossip.
“Riley, you missed your first field goal attempt in the second quarter, but ended up kicking your longest one yet in the third. How did you come back from that first kick and re-center?”
“I’ve learned over the years to not let one kick get under my skin and to just focus on staying consistent. Everyone has bad kicks, bad throws, missed catches — but it doesn’t have to define the game.” She shared a knowing look with Zeke then. “Besides, when Zeke had that sixty-two-yard return at beginning of the second half, I knew I had to bring my game to show him up or I’d never hear the end of it.”
The room lit up with laughter, and then Riley called on the next reporter.
I watched, amazed, from the side of the stage as they fielded each question — and of course, they started steering more toward their relationship than the game after a while. They handled it all like pros, giving a little detail on how dating while playing on the same team had been without going into too much mush. They cracked jokes, illustrated their respect for each other and the team, and when the timing was right, one of them would deliver the perfect sweet line that had the whole room smiling at their young love.
Even me.
Even while my stomach coiled and chest ached with the kind of pain that can only come from having once had what they did and lost it just as fast.
Charlotte ate up every minute of their interview, too. She leaned in, speaking softly so the mics wouldn’t pick her up. “I don’t know how you managed to get this interview from them, but great fucking job, Jones.”
I beamed as Charlotte gave Zeke the signal to take one more question.
He looked out over the hands raised, the people calling out his name, and then pointed to someone near the back.
“Clay Johnson,” he said.
And my heart stopped.
Murmurs fell over the crowd as every head snapped in the direction of where Clay was in the back of the room. I peeked at him from beside the stage, my view mostly blocked, but I could spot his towering figure, his solemn face as he grabbed a nearby chair and climbed to stand on top of it.
He was still in his uniform, the white jersey stained with dirt and grass and sweat. His hair was matted with sweat, too, and the eye black he’d lined under his eyes before the game was smeared now.
But he was still breathtakingly handsome, rugged and intoxicating in the most effortless way.
“Uh, yeah, I was just wondering,” he said when he was standing on top of the chair fully, and he yelled out the words over the crowd. “Have either of you ever done something really stupid that almost ended your relationship?”
A golf ball-sized knot formed in my throat at the question, at the way my heart raced with the words.
Zeke and Riley smiled at each other. “Both of us have made mistakes,” Riley answered. “But we admit when we were wrong. And we always come back to each other.”
The room shifted back to them, a few pictures snapped as more hands went up, confused as to whether that was really the last question or not.
“I appreciate you sharing that answer,” Clay said, and heads swiveled again, confusion washing over everyone trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Me included.
“And you guys have a really great story.”
“Aw, thanks Clay,” Riley said, giving Zeke googly eyes as she leaned into him.
“But ours is better.”
My heart stumbled, stopping altogether for a long breath as Clay’s eyes snapped to mine.
“Wait… ours?” someone asked, and there was a brief pause before the madness, before every camera turned toward Clay and reporters struggled to find mics they could hold out toward him, since all the press ones were focused on Riley and Zeke at the podium.
“Yes, ours,” Clay confirmed. “Mine and Giana Jones’ story.”
“Oh, my God,” I whispered, covering my mouth with shaking hands.
“Oh, my God,” Charlotte repeated, though her voice was firmer, and filled with the disdain of a PR agent whose client had gone rogue.
“You probably don’t know Giana Jones, at least — not by name. But she’s the gorgeous girl who’s always wrangling us, who gets you your interviews and podcast exclusives and commercial spots.” The side of his mouth tilted up as he faced each camera. “And she’s my girlfriend. At least, she was — before I screwed it all up.”
Charlotte snapped her fingers, waking me from my haze. “Go fix this,” she hissed.
I nodded, bolting from behind the stage and squeezing through the crowd that grew thicker and thicker around Clay.
Clay, who was now holding up a small book for everyone to see.
“Blind Side,” he said, showcasing the simple black cover. “The story of how I fake-dated the girl of my dreams and then lost her from being an idiot.”
There was a mixture of laughter and the buzz of questions as the crowd leaned in, making it even harder for me to shove through.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I muttered, shoving as politely as I could.
Clay opened the book, holding it up and showing the godawful stick figures drawn inside it along with the large text like it was a children’s book.
“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful PR princess named Giana,” he said, showing the stick figure with glasses and curly hair with a headpiece on. He licked his thumb and flipped the page. “And a dumb safety named Clay.”
The crowd laughed at the next drawing, which was a stick figure with beefy arms in a too-tight jersey.
“Excuse me,” I said, shoving through the last bit of the crowd. When they parted, someone murmured, “I think that’s her,” and before I could stop them, cameras turned.
Toward me.
Panic zipped through me as I finally reached Clay just as he turned the next page.
“Clay and Giana made a deal — he would help her get the attention of the Prince of Rum & Roasters, and she would help him make his ex-girlfriend jealous. How? By agreeing to fake date each other.” He turned the page, showing the two stick figures locked in a hug as people watched. “Except, there was nothing fake about what they felt for each other.”
My heart squeezed, and as much as I wanted to hear the rest of whatever was in that poor excuse for a book, I reached out for his jersey and tugged.
“Clay, stop.”
He looked down at me. “No.”
“Clay,” I whisper-threatened through my teeth, trying to remain as professional as I could. I turned toward the crowd. “If you all want to take a quick break, we’ll have Holden Moore in here in ten minutes to answer more questions,” I tried.
No one budged.
Least of all Clay.
“No,” he said again, hopping off the chair and down to the floor in front of me. My breath caught as his scent enveloped me, as he stepped closer and closer until we were chest to chest.
Or rather, chest to abdomen.
“No, I won’t stop. I can’t stop, Giana. I can’t hide or pretend anymore. I can’t let my pride keep me from being honest and admitting that I fuuu—”
He paused, an awkward smile on his lips as he amended his language.
“Messed up. Bad.”
I swallowed, ribs squeezing painfully tight around my lungs.
“I hurt you. I know I did. And I also know that I don’t deserve the chance to explain everything to you, to admit my wrongs and ask for your forgiveness.” His brows folded together. “But I’m going to anyway. Because I love you, Giana Jones.”
The room was aflutter, cameras flashing and microphones being shoved as close to us as they could manage as Clay moved in closer, one hand moving up to sweep my hair out of my face.
“I love you,” he repeated, quieter this time, as if he only wanted me to hear. “I love your smutty books, and your weird documentaries, and your obsession with orange, processed snacks.”
I choked on something between a laugh and a sob.
“I love the way you dress, and the way you light up when you talk about the universe, and the way you saw through every wall I tried to put between me and the rest of the world and knew who I was even when I didn’t.”
He shook his head, licking his lips before he continued.
“I love how you believe in me, and how you burn to prove everyone wrong when they size you up too quickly. I love that you challenge yourself.” He paused. “I love that you challenge me.”
I leaned into his palm, bottom lip quivering before I bit down to hold it still.
“I love everything about you — big and small, silly and serious. And I’m sorry I was an idiot and tried to end our story before it even had the chance to begin.”
I closed my eyes, not even realizing the tears that had flooded my eyes until that motion released them and two rivulets ran silently down my cheeks.
Clay thumbed each away.
“I know I have a lot to explain, and I promise I’ll tell you everything. But right now, I just need you to know that I might have been good at pretending a lot in our time together, but I never faked the way I felt about you.” His thumb slid across my jaw. “You have owned my heart since the first fake kiss, Kitten.”
Something of a laugh left me as I opened my eyes again, and Clay waited until I looked at him before he held up the book in his hands.
“This baby needs some revision,” he said, trying to smile, though it fell quickly as his eyes searched mine, the same pain I felt reflected in them. “So, what do you say? Want to rewrite it together?”
A few more tears slipped quietly down my cheeks, Clay wiping them away before they had the chance to even hit my jaw line as I shook my head. My eyes bounced between his, heart swelling with the hope he’d restored.
I sniffed, grabbing the book and turning it over in my hands as I surveyed the horrid cover and font.
“Only if we start completely over,” I whispered, smiling as I peeked up at him. “Because this is the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my life.”
The room burst into laughter at that, and I had almost forgotten about the crowd until that moment. But I didn’t have time to even blush before Clay took the book out of my hand and dropped it to the ground.
“Deal,” he breathed.
And then he kissed me.
His arms wrapped me up in a fierce embrace, sweeping me off my feet until just my toes touched the ground. I snaked my arms around his neck just the same, holding on tight as he kissed me breathless in the flashing lights of a dozen cameras.
“Atta boy!” I heard Zeke yell, and the room erupted into applause.
That brought me back to the moment, and I flushed, breaking our kiss and ducking my head into Clay’s chest as he grinned and tucked me into his side.
“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his other hand. “No more questions. You can read all about it in our book.” He looked down at me then. “If we ever stop kissing long enough to write it.”
Riley blew out a loud whistle as Clay swept me up in his arms, kissing me to another bellow of applause before he was carrying me through the crowd and out the door. Cameras and crew tried to follow us, but Riley and Zeke held them off — along with Charlotte, who turned and crossed her arms once we’d shut the door that led into the team hallway.
“Oh God,” I said, scrambling out of Clay’s arms. “Charlotte, I’m so sorry. I—”
“Sorry?” she asked, severe, and then a slow smile spread on her face. “For what? Making us the headline?”
I blinked. “I…uh…”
“It’s fine,” she said, begrudgingly, before she turned and pointed at Clay. “But don’t ever pull that shit again. And you both owe me an interview with the reporter of my choosing. A long one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Clay answered.
Charlotte smirked, waving a hand at me as she clicked by in her high heels. “Go get a room, you two, before you make us all sick.”
I hid my face in Clay’s chest again, and then he used his knuckles to tilt my chin, wrapping me in his arms before he turned to face Zeke and Riley.
“Thanks for helping me pull my head out of my ass,” he said.
Zeke put his arm around Riley. “Anytime, bro.”
“You two were in on this?” I asked, pointing between them.
“Duh,” Riley answered. “Although, don’t blame those stick figures on me. I offered to help sketch and he refused.”
“My stick figures are a masterpiece,” Clay said, holding his head high.
Riley and I exchanged looks before all four of us burst into laughter.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I said, shaking my head as I looked up at Clay. My heart beat faster when I did, when I realized his arms were around me and we were together.
Together.
“I can’t believe you’re giving me the chance to explain,” he countered.
“Speaking of which, we’ll leave you to it,” Zeke said, and he and Riley gave a wave of their fingers before disappearing down the hall, leaving me and Clay alone.
I turned in his arms, fingers crawling up his chest before I hooked them behind his neck. “Is this real?” I asked, chest pained at the thought that I was dreaming.
Clay swallowed, nodded, and pulled me into him. “I’m sorry I ever made you doubt my feelings for you. I’m sorry I hurt you the way I did.”
“I knew you didn’t want to.”
“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “Which is crazy, by the way. How did you know?”
“Because I know you,” I said simply, searching his eyes. “Because I love you, too.”
Clay blew out a breath, his forehead bending to meet mine. “Fuck, it feels good to hear you say that.”
I smiled, pressing up on my toes to kiss him. We both inhaled deeply at the contact, savoring the way that kiss felt as Clay swept his tongue in to taste mine.
“I want to know everything,” I whispered. “But first, I want you to take me home.”
