Chapter Six #2
Fuck.
By the time she reached me, I had my arms folded over my chest and was yelling out some encouragement to my team’s defense, pretending like I hadn’t noticed her sidling up right next to me.
Of course, she wasn’t going to let me pretend for long.
“Hey, Boss,” she sang, clasping her hands behind her back as she stared out at the field with me. “How was my performance?”
“Stop calling me that. And how would I know? I’m here for football.”
“And yet you were watching me.”
She purred the words, tilting her head to look up at me.
I kept my gaze on the field.
“Oh, let me guess,” she said, turning to face me fully now. “It’s fine for you to check me out from afar, but when I call you on it, I’m… what was it?” She tapped her chin. “Trouble with a capital T?”
I scowled. “I wasn’t checking you out.”
“Sure. And I wasn’t drooling over your arms in this shirt.” She plucked at the hem of one of my sleeves, and just that fraction of a second where her skin slid against mine made my cock twitch in my shorts.
I mumbled a curse word under my breath, subtly adjusting myself before my arms were folded over my chest again.
Emily laughed, the sound so light and sweet I wanted to taste it.
“You shouldn’t say shit like that,” I warned.
“Why? Because it turns you on?”
“Because you and I both signed a contract with very strict rules,” I bit back, snapping my eyes to her. “Or have you forgotten?”
“I do have a pretty shit memory,” she confessed, and then her smile climbed as she tip-toed her fingernails over my forearms and up to boop my nose. “Must be all the Mary J.”
“Shh,” I warned, snatching her hand in mine to remove it from my person as I looked around to make sure no one had heard us.
Emily laughed harder. “God, you are wound tighter than a corset at a Victorian wedding.”
“And you’re playing with fire,” I said. Her eyes fell to where I held her wrist, the skin of which was lined with the delicate ink of a floral tattoo. There was also a tiny line of script on her hand.
I dropped it before I could read what it said.
“Maybe this job doesn’t mean anything to you, but it means everything to me,” I said.
For the first time since I’d met her, her expression hardened, the smile slipping off her face.
“You have no idea what anything means to me. And I was just teasing and having a little fun. You ever heard of that before — fun?” She hung her hands on her hips, then used one hand to tap the air like she was showing me a whiteboard.
“See, it’s where you take the stick out of your ass and loosen up a little.
You can smile, flirt, hell — even laugh if you’re feeling crazy! ”
“I have plenty of fun,” I grumbled. “Just not with you.”
“Mm-hmm. I’m sure you’re a real party starter.”
“Not all of us have the luxury of treating life like a party.”
The words snapped out of me harsher than I intended. When I glanced at Emily, her expression had changed again.
This time it was soft, inquisitive — like I’d just let my mask slip for a second and she’d seen the man beneath it.
Before she could sass me again, we were both startled by a girl from my team plopping down hard on the bench we were standing next to.
She grunted when her body hit against the metal, and then she ripped her soft-shell helmet off and threw it to the ground before raking her hands through her hair and hanging her head.
Her name was Zara. She was one of our offensive linemen in today’s game, and I looked up to find my offense staring at me with their hands up like they didn’t know what to do next.
I hadn’t even realized we’d switched.
And I knew just who to thank for the distraction.
Hastily, I cued another girl from the sideline to take Zara’s place, gave a few play options to our quarterback, and then carefully approached where Zara was on the bench, squatting in front of her.
“Hey,” I said. “You good?”
“Clearly not. I’m terrible, actually. If you saw that last play, then I know you’re lying if you try to tell me otherwise.”
Emily and I shared a look. I expected her to excuse herself and get back to the dancers, but instead, she lowered down on one knee next to me.
“I saw the play,” she said. “And you’re right — not the best I’ve ever seen.”
My head snapped to Emily. “Hello?!” I whispered, eyes flicking to Zara and back again in an expression I hoped communicated not fucking helping!
Emily just shrugged. “What? She knows it wasn’t her best and I’m not going to lie to her.”
Zara sniffed, dropping her hands to her lap so she could lift her head and look at Emily. “They plowed right through me,” she said. “I let the quarterback get sacked and it was all my fault.”
“It’s not just your fault,” I chimed in.
“Offensive line has the most difficult job in this game, in my opinion. And sometimes guys — er,” I checked myself.
“Sometimes players on the defense slip through. I’ve been watching you all day, Zara, and you’ve been fighting and playing hard.
Don’t sell yourself short after one bad play. ”
She sighed, kicking the grass with the toe of her cleat. “I just… I feel like I don’t belong here.”
That stirred something in Emily. I saw the intensity in her eyes when she lowered herself even more, enough that she could sneak in and get face to face with Zara. “What makes you say that?”
“I just don’t fit,” Zara said, frustrated. “I’m too tall and fat to be a quarterback, too slow to be a receiver, but not big enough to be good on either line. And what does any of it matter, anyway? Girls can’t play football. Not for real. Not professionally.”
Emily glanced up at me before looking back to Zara, our eyes meeting in a moment of understanding that shook me more than I expected.
“First of all,” she said, brushing a strand of hair off Zara’s forehead, “you’re wrong about half of that.”
Zara frowned. “I am?”
“Yeah.” Emily nodded toward the field. “You’re not too small for the line. I’ve been watching you. You get lower than the girls across from you, which means you’ve got leverage. That matters way more than size. The only reason they got through on that last play is because your feet stopped moving.”
Zara blinked at her. “My feet?”
“Yep. You planted and they kept driving. Keep your feet churning and suddenly that ‘too small’ thing becomes quick and scrappy.” Emily looked to me for confirmation. “That’s actually a pretty dangerous combo.”
I nodded. “Very much so.”
Zara’s lips twitched a little, like she was trying not to smile.
“And second,” Emily went on, leaning back on her heels, “not fitting in isn’t the insult you think it is.”
Zara huffed a quiet laugh. “Easy for you to say.”
Emily gestured broadly toward the stadium, where the Seahawks Dancers scattered around. “Look at them for a second.”
Zara
“Now look at me.” Emily spread her arms.
Zara studied her — the tattoos peeking out from beneath the uniform, the tiny hoop in her nose, the edge of a piercing glinting along her ear.
“Do I look like I fit in with them?” Emily asked.
Zara shook her head slowly. “…No.”
Emily grinned. “No, I don’t. But I’m still one hell of a dancer.”
That made Zara’s mouth lift for real this time.
“My body doesn’t change that fact,” Emily continued.
“Not my tattoos, not my piercings, not my age, not the fact that I’m built different than half the girls out there.
And you—” she reached out and tapped Zara lightly on the chest pad, “—are a damn good player and teammate. You don’t have to look like everyone else for that to be true. ”
I watched Zara absorb that, the tightness in her shoulders loosening just a little.
“And as for girls not playing football for real,” I added, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, “that part’s definitely wrong.”
Zara looked at me.
“There are women’s tackle leagues all over the world,” I said. “The Women’s Football Alliance, the WNFC. Some of those athletes are absolute monsters on the field. I’ve trained with a few of them in the off-season, and they’d flatten half the guys I know.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirmed. “You keep playing, keep learning your technique and building strength? There are places for players like you.”
Emily nudged Zara’s knee. “See? Even Mr. Serious Boss Man here agrees with me — and between you and me, he’s a real fuddy duddy, so this is a big deal.”
I rolled my eyes, but her little comment made the edge of my mouth tug up.
Emily shifted closer and took Zara’s hand between both of hers, squeezing it.
“Listen to me,” she said gently. “You’re supposed to stand out.
Every great athlete does. The trick isn’t trying to be like everyone else.
It’s figuring out how to be exactly who you are — and using it to wreck your competition. ”
Zara snorted.
“Now go get back out there and show them what scrappy looks like,” I said. “Your team needs you.”
Zara grabbed her helmet off the grass, a little more fire in her eyes as she stood. She nodded her thanks to me and Emily both before I blew my whistle at the end of the play, calling for a timeout.
I huddled the team together, gave a little speech about digging deep when we feel defeated, and how this game wasn’t over yet. We were down by ten points, but that didn’t mean we gave up. There was still time to win.
They looked determined and fierce when I jogged back to the sideline, and when they pulled off a first down, Emily cheered loudly next to me as I whooped and clapped my hands.
We shared a look.
And then Emily picked up her pompoms and shot me a wink over her shoulder before sashaying away.
“Maybe we’re a better team than you think, Boss.”