Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
My eyes glance up at the suite, and I see her standing there with Sloane. They’re laughing, and when she catches me staring, she waves. I can’t see it from here, but I bet her cheeks are a gorgeous light shade of pink. Turning back to the field, I get my head in the game. We’re up by four, and there are only three minutes left on the play clock. Defense is on the field, and I watch as one of our linemen sacks the quarterback from Washington.
“Fuck yeah!” someone roars. I don’t know who, but I’m agreeing with him as I slip my helmet back on and jog out onto the field. We need to score again and bring this win home.
In the huddle, Knox calls the play. “Rampage on three!” he shouts.
We all place our hands out, stacking them on top of each other, and shout, “One, two, three, Rampage!” before we break into our positions. I line up next to the right tackle, getting into position. I’m balanced, focused, and ready. Knox calls out the play, taking the snap from our center, Thomas Keen, and I explode off the line, brushing past the linebacker and pumping my fist, cutting left to the center of the field. Knox pulls his arm back and tosses a Hail Mary to Landry, just as he’s tackled to the ground.
We made it to the red zone.
Twenty more yards to move the ball to the endzone.
Blood rushes in my ears. It doesn’t matter that this is a preseason game. I’m an athlete and a competitive asshole. I want to bring home the win. For me, for my team, for my dream girl, who faced her fears to watch me play the only thing I’ve ever loved, until I met her.
Fuck.
I’m in love with her.
I knew I felt strongly for her, but it’s standing here on the field, doing the job that almost made me lose her, when I realize that I love her more than the game—more than anything. My eyes glance up at the suite, and I grin before getting back into position, keeping my head in the game. I’m bringing this fucking win home.
Keen snaps the ball when Knox calls the play. Space is tight as the defense closes in quickly. They know they have to stop us, but what they don’t know is that my girl is here watching, and how big a deal that is. My eyes scan the field, and I fight for a spot, right between the safeties, to slip through. I turn in time to catch Knox’s gaze as he launches the ball in my direction. Hands extended in the air, I snatch the ball, stepping just out of reach of a defenseman, and over another as my legs sprint the final eight yards to the endzone.
Touchdown Rampage!
My teammates jump on me, and then Landry appears, shaking his ass for the crowd, and I can’t leave my boy hanging. We do a little jig, and I glance up at the suite, pointing to my girl. This one’s for you, Bell.
Back on the sidelines, I pull off my helmet and suck down some water. I watch as Washington tries to score, but our defense holds them. On their final drive, the clock counts down to zero. Mark that as a win for the Rampage. Media swarms us, but I manage to skip past them all. With my helmet in my hands, I jog off to the locker room. Landry loves that shit, and Knox, well, he’s the face of the team, and I have no doubt his wife is on her way to him, if she’s not already there, to take pictures for social media. We have a team photographer, but I can’t blame the girl for using that as an excuse to get to her husband.
By the time they make it to the locker room, I’m climbing out of the mandatory ice bath and rushing to take the world’s fastest shower. I’m zipping up my bag, anxious to meet Bellamy in the hallway. I showed her where to go, and Sloane, who knows the drill by now, is with her. I’m not worried about Bell. I just want to see her. Wrap my arms around her, kiss her, maybe even tell her that I’m in love with her. I can’t stop my grin from forming at the thought.
“Montgomery!” Coach Warner bellows.
I fight the urge not to roll my eyes. “Yes, Coach?” I ask, keeping things professional.
“Ice bath.”
“Already done.” He narrows his eyes at me, and I hold his stare. “Gotta go see my girl,” I tell him. He needs to know that I’m hers, and she’s mine, and no amount of riding my ass is going to change that. His face is red, and he knows he has nothing else to bitch at me about, because I give him all of me when I’m on that field, and at every practice. I wonder if that vein in his forehead will pop out when he finds out his daughter is living with me and having my baby.