Chapter 22 Johnson
Johnson
After she leaves Monday night, reality takes a minute to sink in.
Holy shit.
I’m dating Grace Battle.
The whole situation is so loaded. I really like her, and I can’t believe I get a shot at this. I want it to work out, badly.
Despite the landmine of my friendship with Landon, and by extension, the team.
She’s so much more than her normal reserved nature lets out in the world. Seeing her reveal more of herself, her wit and her desires, as I build up her trust, makes me even more excited to have our relationship move forward.
My mixed feelings about exploring our connection are less pronounced now that I’ve given myself permission to take the risk of not telling Landon at first.
We’ll share with him when the time is right and figure out how to smooth it over then.
Either way, it’s a short week for our second game, so I can’t dwell too hard on anything except playing football. We’re scheduled for the Thursday night feature game, and it’s away, so we also have to travel.
Except as I head to the locker room after lunch on Tuesday, I get a text. The text.
GRACE: Link: “My Wish List” shared from Notes
As I click it open, my mouth goes dry just from the first few entries.
>>Be watched
>>Shower fun
>>Be blindfolded….
And it keeps going on from there.
Goldie has laid herself bare here, admitting all the things that she wants to try. With me.
I get to be the one to have this list—and act on it with her? Not one thing she’s listed isn’t something I would love to do with her.
The images crossing through my head are fucking hot as hell.
Not wanting to leave her feeling exposed, I respond right away. Repeating my line from the auction night.
JOHNSON: I’m at your command.
Shit. And now I’m half hard.
As I walk into the locker room, I make a beeline for the restrooms. Entering a stall, I put the seat cover down and sit, fully clothed.
I will my dick to calm down, thinking about pass routes, the jock strap someone left by my locker, sweaty men in the huddle—anything to push the images of Grace’s list out of my head.
It takes five minutes of mental distractions before I feel like I might be able to function at football.
When I’m back at my locker, I put my phone away for the rest of the day, so I’m not tempted to look at the list again.
In reality, I don’t have much free time to lose myself in thoughts of Grace over the next couple of days.
The Thursday games that the league throws on the schedule are brutal for staying with your normal prep—studying game tape, coming up with tweaks to schemes, and running through practice reps. It’s such a blur that I barely remember packing for our Wednesday flight to Buffalo.
The game itself is tense. Bailey helps a ton in the first half with five catches, including two where he gains over twenty yards after making the grab.
However, the Buffalo defense starts smothering him in the second half, and a few dropped balls and misread routes by the other wide receivers make things worse.
By the last two minutes of the game, our 21-7 halftime lead has dwindled to 21-20.
When we get the ball back with 1:58 to go in the game, I regroup. We need to run out the clock with some first downs or at least get in field goal range to get another three points on the board, which would make them have to work harder to take the win if they get the ball back themselves.
I get the call from the sidelines to start the sequence—a running play. Not a bad choice because the clock will keep ticking down as long as our running back stays in bounds. He does, gaining four yards, and Buffalo is forced to burn a timeout.
It’s second down and six yards to go. I need to help us eat up some yards or eat up some clock—ideally both.
A passing play gets called, one of Bailey and my favorite routes so far this season. But after the center snaps the ball to me, Bailey gets bumped hard on his way to his spot by the cornerback and has another guy shadowing him. His momentum is slowed enough that he’s out of this play.
I quickly check our other two wide receivers, but neither have freed up any space from their coverage. Damn it. So I locate our tight end Walsh and dump it to him for a four-yard gain. After he executes a classic spin move, he adds another three yards.
A first down after his seven-yard gain. And now we’re modestly closer to field goal range. Even better—Buffalo uses their last timeout.
If these short gains are going to be what we need to win the game, so be it.
Marshall seems to agree, as the calls to start the next set of downs are a running play and a screen pass to Walsh.
Combined, they net us fifteen yards, take another thirty seconds off the clock, and yield another first down.
We’re close. Damn close. One more first down and we can run out the clock.
Another pass play is called in, again with Bailey as first option. But the Buffalo defense triple teams him—Jesus, they must have read the play—so I am quickly scrambling for an alternative.
One second, two seconds, and I know I can’t wait anymore. I see a hole in the line and begin to run. Smolder, our superior blocking tight end, is in instead of Walsh and executes a beautiful tackle against a linebacker to let me cut through more daylight.
I’m not fast, and I’m also not slow. I do have the ability to see the field, anticipate where everyone is going to go, and I’m pretty good on the move as a result, when I do have to run.
Thanks to the protection of the offensive line and Smolder, I make the yards fly by. Once I reach the 35-yard line and see a bunch of Buffalo jerseys come my way, I drop down. No need to risk injury, and now the remaining seconds can just run out before we’re required to make our next play.
They do, and messy or not, we come away with another win. 2-0 for the season.
“Fuck yes,” Carter says as he climbs on the plane bringing the team back to Orlando. “Great job, men.”
Bailey is already seated across from me. “The line brought it, Carter. Nice work.”
Landon takes the seat in the row behind me, and we’re all shooting the shit as the plane takes off. Once we reach cruising altitude, Coach Houston stands up and addresses the team quickly.
“Now we have the whole weekend off. Heal any bumps or bruises, get some family time, enjoy a little extra rest. We’ll be back at the facility on Monday.”
I make eye contact with Landon, and he looks extra amped. Rori is playing in the U.S. Open finals on Saturday in New York, and now he can go.
Which also means he won’t expect to make plans with either Grace or me for the weekend. Instead, we can make plans with each other.
By the time the plane lands though, it’s two in the morning, so I don’t do more than get home and crash.
I sleep until eight, the sunshine streaming through the windows in my bedroom forcing my eyes open. A free Friday, so I guess I can afford to be a little tired.
Appreciation of the victories in the last ten days has me juiced anyway as my mind fully wakes up. The two wins on the field—and a step forward with Grace off it.
I call my mom once I’ve had a couple sips of coffee, and it sounds like everything is status quo. Lainie’s trying to do it all, everyone is tired, and yup, predictably—they still don’t want more help.
Next, I make a mental list of who else I should check in with today: our head of physical therapy to schedule treatment on a couple of my tweaked muscles from the game; Lily about a new investment opportunity I’d received; Aiden about some endorsement options he’s already vetting for next off-season; and Grace.
The first three happen in rapid fashion, and I’m set to come into the facility at eleven for treatment.
I’m not concerned with any of my bumps and bruises—they’re the norm after a game.
It’s inevitable you’re going to have dings when you are getting slammed into by 250+ pound men over and over again.
Getting your minor injuries to heal quicker with the right care, however, is essential.
It’s a long season, and taking care of my body now will pay off over time.
All things football done, it’s now time for the one message I want to get right. I go for simple and direct.
JOHNSON: Hi, I’m free all weekend. Can I take you on our first official date?
GRACE: Yes. When?
I don’t want just to hang out at my house. We may come back here after, but I want to do something that feels like a real date.
I look outside, racking my brain for ideas that won’t blow our cover. And then, as a bird flies by, an idea hits.
JOHNSON: Are you busy tonight?
I guess that could come off as impatient, but I am.
GRACE: Tonight is perfect. I’m still on break, so my schedule is easy
We make plans for me to pick her up at Landon’s at five, since she’s staying there to take care of Grover while he’s in New York.
Then I get to work ordering a grocery delivery for everything I need for my idea—and call in a favor.
At five sharp, I’m ringing Landon’s doorbell. This time I’m wearing shorts and a thin polo, since we’re going to be outdoors.
I didn’t bring flowers, since I realized that it could be tricky for Grace to explain to Landon when he returns and finds flowers at his house. I’ve pulled out a bunch of stops, though.
The door opens to an absolute vision. Grace’s blonde locks are braided in a halo, framing her face, and she has on a cute lemon-colored sleeveless top and denim shorts. I immediately admire her killer legs with so much of them on display.
“Hi,” she says brightly. “Is this alright? You said to wear something casual I could walk around in?”
“You look great.” I give her a kiss on the cheek, and then notice she’s wearing socks but no shoes yet. “Definitely bring sandals or flip-flops for later if you want, but start off in sneakers.”
“I’m so curious what we’re doing. Okay, come in and I’ll get my shoes on.”