Chapter 23 Chelsea
Chelsea
WE’RE HALFWAY THROUGH the first quarter of the game now, and Luca still hasn’t gone in, despite our defense already taking the field twice.
To put it mildly, he’s not taking it well. Indeed, every time I’ve looked over at Luca on the bench, he’s looked like he’s about to explode from anticipation.
Our offensive unit is on the field again now, led by one of our rookie QB hopefuls, and I wish so badly I could be sitting over there next to Luca instead of standing here on the sideline squashed between the defensive coordinator and cocky, full-of-himself Jacob Moriarty, who’s not even suited up to play.
Admittedly, Luca can be cocky sometimes, too.
But the difference is he’s got the charm and heart to back it up, so his cockiness is endearing. With Jacob, it’s nothing but annoying.
The bright spot of the day, at least, is that the defensive coordinator has asked me to stand next to him today and feed him data and stats in real time.
That’s a pretty exciting development, since it’s exactly the sort of thing I’m hoping to do in an official capacity one day.
But even so, I’d still rather be sitting next to Luca so I can prepare him to crush it when his moment to run onto the field finally arrives.
“Nice speed-rip,” Moriarty mutters to me, commenting on the action on the field. He keeps doing that. Chatting with me. Acting like we’re buds. But there’s zero chemistry between us, even as friends, so I’m getting sick of his commentary.
“Bull rush is coming next,” he adds, when I don’t reply to his first comment.
“If he’s smart.”
The ball is snapped and our rookie quarterback hangs back in the pocket, looking for his target.
Just like Moriarty predicted, the outside linebacker for the Admirals comes with a bull rush next.
But what’s this? Our little rookie somehow gets away and throws a dart in the nick of time, and it’s miraculously caught by the fingertips by our rookie wide receiver—a cutie-pie everyone adores who’s still on the bubble but making a great case for himself today.
As I clap along with everyone else about the completed pass, Moriarty leans down and says, “The rook’s got a cannon.”
“His accuracy needs work, though.”
“Accuracy, he can work on, Parkette. Having a cannon, not so much.”
Parkette. He keeps calling me that, and I wish he wouldn’t. “Parker,” I murmur, even though I know my correction is landing on deaf ears.
It’s third down now.
After the snap, our rookie steps back in the pocket again, finds that same cutie-pie receiver, and completes another pass—this one for twelve yards.
We’re still on our end of the hundred-yard playing field, and it’s only a meaningless preseason game, but everyone on our side of the field momentarily cheers like that was a touchdown pass in the Super Bowl.
Obviously, we quickly contain ourselves and act like we’ve been here before.
But it’s clear everyone’s feeling a momentum shift on our side of the field, and it’s an exciting thing for a team with such a losing track record as ours.
I peek toward Luca, eager to share a smile about that second pass completion, but he’s not sitting on the benches anymore. I look around and locate him standing with a pack of players on the sideline. Either that second pass got him up, or he’s coincidentally too antsy to sit any longer.
After the next play, Luca finally looks my way, and when our eyes meet, I shoot him an encouraging look. One that says, “You’ve got this, baby.” Our secret moment is soon interrupted, though, when Moriarty leans down to talk to me, blocking my view of Luca’s gorgeous face.
“Mm-hmm,” I say, not even listening to whatever he’s saying.
And the second he’s done talking, I crane my neck to peek back at Luca and find him seething, not surprisingly.
Clearly, he’s not pleased about Moriarty’s constant chumminess with me, even though I’ve told him I can’t stand the guy.
The good news, however, is that jealousy has plainly lit a fire inside Luca—and that’s something I can capitalize on.
I turn away from Luca’s blazing eyes to tap on the defensive coordinator’s shoulder. “Would you put Ninety-Five in during the next defensive series, as a favor to me? I have a gut feeling this is the right time.”
It’s not my place to tell a high-level coach which players to put in and when, especially during a game. If this were a regular-season matchup, I wouldn’t dare. But screw it. It’s only preseason, and Luca’s football life is at stake.
I can’t read the defensive coordinator’s expression when he replies, “I’ll consider it.”
A few minutes pass, and the time comes for our defensive unit to take the field. When they do, I’m elated to see Luca among them.
Off the bat, the Admirals run a rush, which means there’s no chance for Luca to even try to get a sack, since there’s no throw by the opposing quarterback.
Luca nonetheless makes a good impression: As the QB makes his handoff to his running back, Luca reads the play perfectly and immediately stuffs the running back for zero yards gained.
Of course, everyone on our side of the ball applauds and cheers, if only briefly.
Everyone except Moriarty, that is. When I glance at him, he’s stone-faced and squinty-eyed.
Interesting. Is our golden boy feeling Luca’s hot breath on the back of his cocky neck the same way he did when the press lauded Luca as the next Moriarity, only better, during college?
The next snap for the Admirals leads to yet another running play, which once again affords Luca zero opportunity to notch a sack or even apply pressure on the QB.
But still, Luca makes an impact. This time, he not only denies the running back any forward progress, he also drags that powerful, flailing man backward for a full five-yard loss, like a shark dragging his dinner to the bottom of the sea. My God, I think I just had an orgasm.
Again, our sideline erupts in brief celebration of Luca’s monstrosity, even more so than the last time. And again, when I look at Moriarty, he’s impassive and prickly. Ha. Suck it, Jacob. You’re not the only big dog in town.
It’s third and long now. Which means the Admirals will almost certainly try to throw the ball to get themselves out of this hole. Come on, Luca.
The Admirals call a time-out. Not surprisingly. I’d call one too if a fire-breathing dragon was lined up in a three-point stance opposite my quarterback.
Hydration assistants dutifully jog onto the field to take care of our sweaty, dripping warriors.
And as Luca guzzles water and wipes his face, I patiently wait to catch his eye.
It’s not my role to coach him any longer.
And certainly not in a game. But I know that man’s strengths and weaknesses better than anyone else.
And thanks to my deal with Bellamy, I’ve got a vested interest in his success more than anyone, too.
After what feels like an eternity, Luca’s blazing eyes finally drift to mine, and I use the opportunity to covertly signal him with three fingers. Bull rush to spin counter.
My message received, Luca nods, winks, and looks away again.
And a moment later, when the ball is snapped, Luca perfectly executes what I’ve instructed.
In fact, not only does Luca get to the quarterback and take him down with a bone-crunching thud, the ball squeaks out of the guy’s hand on the way down and hits the turf, allowing one of our linemen to fall on it and secure a turnover.
It’s a best-case scenario for Luca: a sack with a forced fumble on his first series of the game.
Not only is that enough to make him a hero and keep him alive for another week, it’s also enough for him to win our bet, as far as I’m concerned.
The sex part, anyway. Granted, he’s only managed one sack so far, not three, but I feel like reasonable minds would agree a sack with a forced fumble is roughly equivalent to three ordinary ones.
Aw, who am I kidding? Even if reasonable minds wouldn’t agree on that exchange rate, all that matters is I’m suddenly feeling so turned on by Luca Maguire, my capacity for reasonable thought has deserted me.
Indeed, I’m so turned on by that sack, you’d think there was a vibrator pressed firmly between my legs.
So turned on, I’ve already decided something: No matter how many more sacks Luca gets or doesn’t during the rest of this game, that sexy man is getting laid tonight.