Chapter 1
Chapter One
MADDOX
Charity Flag Football Game
If there was one truth to co-ed sports, it's that there’s never enough girls.
Which has nothing to do with my ego needing more attention from women, and I'm not being sexist. I've always held a healthy respect for women—thanks to my mother clobbering it into my head when I was still an idiot teenager. I’ve also served alongside female combat engineers during my time in the Marines.
I don't know what it is. Take the other day, for example.
Texas State Tech has been fielding top notch women's sports teams for well over two decades—everything from swimming to our internationally ranked soccer program.
Our visitor tours make a point of trying to impress future enrollees with our "industry-leading" women's facilities, including a new locker room with fancy "spa-like" showers.
The men's football locker room? Still looks and stinks like it was built in the 1970s. Pipes groan and shriek and we stand on bare, stained concrete.
Not the kind of stain that's another word for paint. Just…stained.
But the women athletes get "niceties."
So you'd think we'd be able to field one, single, co-ed flag football game—for a children's charity, no less.
Even if it is Valentine's Day. And it's about to rain.
"Didn't stop them from coming out here to watch," I groused to no one. Who wants to sit on the sidelines instead of playing the damned game? I huffed visible breaths into the air.
She wouldn't. Ella would get her rear onto the field. In her softball pants. It'd be even better if she was on the other team and I got an opportunity to wrap her up, er, pull her flag. That'd be worth something.
But, like a boneheaded grunt, I'd royally fucked things up.
"Seriously, Maddox? That's"—she tucked her hands over her bare chest as all the color drained from her face— "Just, get out."
I rubbed a hand over my forehead as the sick wave crashed through my stomach. Again. Eight months later, and the misery was still a sucker punch to the gut.
Standing in her apartment, so incredibly close, heated, wanting…
Fire lit in her eyes as she slid across my lap. Her lips on mine tasted spicy sweet, a mix of pineapple and chili—
"Oh, hey, here comes someone!" Danny popped up from the ground and shielded his eyes. He stared in the direction of the parking lot.
Chilled February air gusted across the practice field. Brown blades of grass huddled against the dirt and muck.
I let out a long breath, shaking off the feel of her—the taste of her skin, the memory of—
"Move move move!" Seager's voice boomed like crashes of thunder. "You, ponytail chick, are you a sloth or an athlete?"
I glared at the opposite sideline, which was teeming with co-ed freshmen. I pulled my right arm into a stretch across my chest.
Nothing's been right since…her.
Sato glanced up from his seat on the bench. "You knew the rules, man."
I scowled at the reclining giant. "Then go convince your fan club to play." I pointed at the bleachers filled with women.
"I was not involved." His bass intonation hit "smooth jazz" levels that made my deep baritone sound like I hadn't been through puberty yet.
Ass.
"Misha keeps me on a tight leash. As in tight." One dark eyebrow quirked up and he grinned. "And damn it all, man, but I like it."
I leaned down to stretch my hamstrings. Just stop talking.
Danny collapsed on the bench beside Sato. "Aw man! This is bullshit. Seager went and snapped up all the hotshot, and hot, freshmen women. And what do we have?"
Sato's smile fell away. His mouth turned down on one side.
"I mean, we do have a bunch of smokin' female fans to cheer us on." Danny tossed the football in the air and caught it. "I can live with that."
I grumbled. "You used the game—"
"And the charity angle," Sato cut in, "to chat up sorority girls. ’Stead of recruiting." He unfolded his six-foot-five frame. "It’s your fault if we have to forfeit." He shook his head. "Animals, man. You're animals."
Danny waved a hand. "The whole point is to raise money for charity. They bought tickets to be here."
Rotten, made-up holiday. I let out a sharp breath and scrubbed a hand over my face.
Sato wagged a finger in the air. "Don’t worry, Mick. My Misha’ll come through, even though these guys left us hanging. Literally."
Danny rolled his eyes and his head. "It’s just for fun."
"Except nothing with Mick is ever ‘for fun.’ Not anymore." Sato crossed his arms over his chest.
I flipped him off and sat down to continue stretching. Gimme a break.
"…and that demon Seager over there," Danny said. "You two practically compete just to get to the field first."
Would've gotten cold after my warmup. I leaned over my right leg and grabbed my cleat.
"The difference is that guy"—Danny stood and pointed at Seager, the backup quarterback with the loudest mouth in Texas—"would break people up on Valentine’s, just to get the best players."
"Poor girls," Sato said in a pitiable tone.
I switched legs and continued stretching. "Just focus on the game."
"Hey, Earth to Mad-ma-tron." Danny bent down, puffing cold breaths into my personal space. "We can't play if we don't have at least five girls."
I shoved him away. "I’m aware."
"They’re the only ones who can score. Worst kind of cockblock I’ve ever heard." Danny tossed the ball from one hand to the other. His man bun wobbled on the back of his head. "What if we forfeit?" He palmed the football. "Do we still have to streak?"
"Yep. And everyone knows us, man. Misha’ll kill me."
"Why does she care?"
I winced. "Don’t ask him—"
"She claims it’s her property. Not for show. Not for sale."
This is why we don’t ask.
"It’s supposed to snow next week. The shrinkage alone..." Danny threw a short pass to Kurt as he joined our group. "Gonna ruin my dating life."
I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep, cold breath. Sighing, I gained my feet. Heat swirled through my abdomen even as the biting wind chilled the skin of my cheeks and hands. I pulled on my gloves, performed a couple more stretches, then took off at a jog.
"Nothing rattles that guy,” Danny's voice drifted after me. "He's like a machine."
"That's why he’ll be in the draft next year. No doubt in my mind," Sato said.
After the year I had? I have doubts. The grass crunched beneath my cleats. It's not just pride. I had no room for mistakes…
Every practice. I leaned down and "scooped" at the ground with one hand, then righted myself. Jogged a few more steps and leapt.
Every game. I scooped with the other hand.
Every throw. Jump! I pivoted at the painted yard line and cross-stepped a grapevine across the field.
Every snap. The shouts of that freshman upstart Seager caught my ear again. "Grandma's slow, but she's fucking old. What's your excuse?"
I hated it. The fact that my brain had him on repeat, driving me. Relentless. Merciless. He made me a better competitor every day, but the world had become black and white: nothing but the game.
Everything for the game.
"This could be your year, son." Coach Kenbrough leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. "Make a mark. Set yourself up for the draft."
But it had all been a lie.