Kicked (21 page)

She wiped her mouth and turned to me. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She put her hand on my forearm. “Not just for the food. For helping with my father. I’ll repay you somehow.”

“No, you won’t.” I smiled. “Don’t be fooled. Money is easy for me. I can pay for things all day long, but I want you to know that if there’s anything I can do to help you, or to make you happy, I’ll do it.”

“Like getting me the kicker position?” She took a sip of her water.

I nodded. “Like that, yeah.”

She set her glass down and frowned. “Wait. Did you get me first-string?”

“No.” I took her hand and kissed the back of it. “That was all you. I promise. Nothing to do with me.”

Her smile returned. “Thank God. I didn’t want to start off with a confidence problem. But it had a lot to do with you. Don’t kid yourself.” She ran her hand down my cheek, and I leaned into her palm. “And I hear what you’re saying about money being easy for you. But you’ve done more for me than anyone else ever has. Thank you.”

I toyed with a lock of her hair and grinned. “It wasn’t completely altruistic.”

“No?” She took a bite of baklava.

I gripped her waist and pulled her closer to me. “Not at all. I had my sights set on a very particular goal.”

She batted her lashes. “Oh, my dear Mr. Carrington. What sort of girl do you think I am? You can’t buy my affection.”

I kissed her, the honey on her lips only enhancing her taste. “I know exactly what sort of girl you are. Mine.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

C
ORDY

T
HE BEAT OF THE
drums behind me reverberated through my chest. The offense was on the field, Trent leading the charge toward the Gators’ end zone. I stood along the sideline, mixing in with the players as Coach Sterling stalked past us.

We were already up by fourteen, and I’d kicked each point after the touchdowns.

Hawthorne stood at my elbow. “Looks like you’re about to be up again.”

I glanced up at him, his red hair glowing under the stadium lights. “Don’t jinx it!”

“Whoa.” He held his hands up, a wry smile on his lips. “Don’t even say the J-word around me.”

“You started it.”

“And I take it back.”

“Then I take back the J-word. Though, I must say, your kickoffs have been epic this whole game.” I shook my head as Trent ran the ball up the middle to the two-yard line. “And I couldn’t believe the punt you kicked to the five that rolled to the one. That was crazy.”

He shrugged, modesty written in the movement. “I just get lucky sometimes.”

“I’d like to get lucky with the princess here.” Ethan hovered behind me.

I rolled my eyes. “Go drink some Gatorade. I think all that running around and sweating has fried your wildebeest brain.”

“Keep insulting me.” He moved closer, his hot breath flowing down my neck. “It’s just going to make it that much sweeter when I’ve got you on your back.”

“Hey, asshole.” Hawthorne turned and scowled. “Back the fuck off her.”

“I’m not talking to you, copper top.”

Hawthorne laughed far too vehemently to be believed. “Oh, good one. I’ve never heard that one before.” He guffawed. “Tell me another.”

Before Ethan could spew any more bullshit, the crowd came alive. Trent had thrown a perfect pass to the back of the end zone. The offense ran off the field, bringing the smell of grass and earth with them. I snugged my helmet into place as Coach walked up.

“Bring it on home, Cordy.”

“Yes, sir.” I trotted onto the field.

Trent followed. “You’re doing great.”

I grinned and fidgeted with my mouth piece. “So are you.”

The crowd grew louder as an image of Trent and me lit up the huge screens on each end. We were standing close, and my smile was on full display. My cheeks heated, but I trained my eyes on the field. I needed to keep my head in the game.

“You got this.” Trent tapped my helmet, then knelt.

The crowd was quiet, many of them to help me concentrate, the rest because defeat was at hand. I lined up, took my steps, then signaled for the center to hike the ball.

I took my steps, connected with the pigskin, and the ball flew through the uprights. The crowd cheered, and for the first time, I was actually glad I was on a football field instead of a soccer pitch.

Trent stood and smacked my helmet again. “Perfect.”

“Thanks.” I ran off the field as Hawthorne prepared for his final kickoff of the game.

Trent walked to Coach and had a brief conference before coming to stand at my side. His brown hair stuck up every which way, and his eye black was smeared on one side, but he smiled down at me.

“You did it. Your first game as the starting kicker.”

Pride swelled in my chest, and I couldn’t stop my smile. “
We
did it.”

Hawthorne kicked to the Gators, who ran two plays, then took a knee to end the game. The crowd roared with approval as the teams took off to their locker rooms.

Trent patted my ass once we were in the tunnel. “I’ll have to do the press conference, but I’ll see you after.”

“Baxter!” Coach Sterling’s yell cut through the click of cleats and the high spirits of the team.

Trent and I stopped and turned.

“I’ll want you at the table for the conference. Be ready in half an hour.”

“Me?”

Coach Sterling stared down his bulbous nose at me as the rest of the team filtered past. “Is there another Baxter on the team I don’t know about?”

“Um, no?”

“No. So have your ass showered and ready to talk in thirty. Same goes for you, Trent. You know the drill. Get to it.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Once Coach Sterling was out of sight, Trent dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “See you at the table.”

A press conference? I strode to the women’s locker room and pushed inside. We were at the Gators’ field, so the room wasn’t familiar, but it had everything I needed to wash the game off me. I showered and dried my hair as fast as possible. I didn’t have time for any makeup other than some mascara, but it would have to do.

I walked through the stadium’s inner hallway and joined the team milling around outside the men’s locker room. Coach Carver tapped Coach Sterling on the shoulder and jerked his chin at me.

Coach Sterling waved me to him. “Come on, Baxter. Hotfoot it over to the press room.”

Pulling my bag behind me, I navigated through the players, several of them smiling and clapping me on the back. It felt good, and I found myself returning their grins and even doing a fist bump with a wide receiver.

“I’ll take that and see it to the bus.” Coach Carver snagged my carry-on luggage.

“Thanks.” I let it go and continued down the corridor.

Gabrielle Younce, the head of school media, stood in the hall, her well-coiffed blonde hair done in beachy waves and her skirt suit fitting her trim form perfectly. I’d become well acquainted with her when I was initially picked to be the Mav. She’d given a press conference about Billingsley inclusivity while I smiled and waved next to her.

“You ready?” She looked me up and down, then undid the last button on my team polo.

“Hey.” I wanted to slap her hand away.

“Trust me.” She pulled a lock of hair over my shoulder and backed away so I could continue toward the media room.

“We good?” Trent jogged up, though he looked paler than usual.

Did he still get nervous talking in front of people?

“I think so. I don’t know.” I clasped my hands in front of me as I walked, my fingers at war with each other. “I’ve never done a press conference before.”

“It’s easy.” Coach Sterling clapped me on the back. “I’ll handle most of the questions. You two just sit there and look pretty.”

We came to a set of green double doors, and Gabrielle whipped around in front of us. “Just be your best selves.” She smiled and turned the handle.

Trent took my hand, his palm clammy, and gave it a quick squeeze.

I followed Coach, Trent at my back, as we filed into the media room. About a dozen reporters sat in chairs or chit-chatted with each other. TV cameras were set up in the aisle, and a couple more recorded from the back of the room. Coach took two steps onto a podium and claimed the center seat where a bank of microphones was already waiting. I scooted past and sat on the far end. Trent sat on Coach’s other side.

The reporters took their seats. I recognized a couple at the front from ESPN and the local sports channel. Gabrielle stood off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Let’s get started.” Coach Sterling gave a play by play of how he felt the game went. He praised Trent’s leadership and mentioned the strength of our defensive line. After a long spiel about how we have to work on avoiding penalties that cost yardage, he opened the floor for questions.

“Is there any truth to the rumors that lineman Ethan Granger and your QB have a long-running feud of some sort?”

Coach waved his hand as if he were swatting an annoying fly. “None whatsoever. This is a competitive sport. Even on the same team, players want to be the best. That can lead to gossip, but nothing more. Both men are trying to be the best this team has to offer.”

Two reporters started asking questions at the same time, but the one in the front row won out. “Trent, how has team morale been since the kicking fiasco last Saturday?”

Some photographers moved around, taking my picture from different angles.

Trent cleared his throat. “Well, I wouldn’t call it a fiasco. That’s pretty harsh. We lost one of our best guys to injury, and Cordy did her best to fill that spot and win the game. What happened couldn’t have been foreseen. We got past it as a team, and now Cordy’s our starting kicker. We’re all behind her one hundred percent. So I think that tells you how the team’s morale is.”

I forced myself not to smile, though I wanted to burst with happiness from his vote of confidence.

“Cordy,” One of the men farther back called. “What’s it like being the only starting female college kicker in the country?”

I glanced at Coach. He nodded at me in the “go ahead” motion.

“It’s great. I couldn’t wish for a better team or a better set of coaches.”

The reporter leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “How did you go from missing so badly last weekend to knocking it through with ease during this game?”

“Practice. Trent helped me work on my form.” I winced as the reporter smirked, but continued, “Since he’s the holder, he knows a lot about kicking. We practiced together for a few days, and then I went to walk-on tryouts. I was the most accurate for shorter distances. And that’s how I got the first-string position.”

“Are you and Trent still
practicing
?” The inflection in his word and the smirk on his face had me fisting my hands beneath the table.

“The team practices every day of the week.” Trent’s voice boomed out. “Next question.”

But the reporter wouldn’t give up. “We saw an interesting display of affection out on the field during the game. Coach, are you okay with your players dating?”

Gabrielle stepped forward. “If you don’t have any football-related questions, we’ll call an end to the conference. The private lives of Billingsley’s students are not up for debate or questions.”

Relief coursed through me as the rude reporter held a hand up and leaned back, though he still kept looking at me, then to Trent, then back to me.

The rest of the conference was taken up by questions for Coach and Trent. I was able to relax as they went over every bit of minutiae from the game. By the time the reporters began asking about our next game, our time was up. Gabrielle ushered us back into the hallway where Trent took a deep breath and leaned against the wall.

I rubbed his arm. “You did great in there.”

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow at the contact. “Cordy, a word?”

I stared up at Trent, not leaving until I was sure he was all right. “You okay?”

Trent smiled. “Yeah, I just have to decompress for a second, let my nerves calm down. Go on. I’ll see you on the bus.”

“Okay.” I followed Gabrielle, who turned into the nearby ladies’ room.

She bent over, checking for feet in the stalls. Apparently satisfied, she leaned against the nearest sink and sighed. “How long have you two been seeing each other?”

I couldn’t deny it, and I didn’t want to. “We’ve known each other a long time, but we only started dating a few days ago. Why?”

“The team doesn’t need any distractions.” She turned and perused her face in the mirror. “We already have a loss. It will take a miracle for us to make it to the playoffs this year. And we’ll likely have to face the Eagles again to do it.”

“I don’t care about facing the Eagles. They’re just another team.”

She peered at my reflection. “Do you have any idea how much pressure will be on the team, on you, if we go up against the same team who beat us solely because of your disastrous kick?”

Her tone grated on me. “Look, I intend to kick the best I can. That’s all I can do. My relationship with Trent has nothing to do with what happens on field.”

“If you two have a falling out, it will affect the entire team. It will affect how he plays and how you play.” She turned and faced me, her eyes narrowed. “Kickers are a dime a dozen. Quarterbacks aren’t. Bear that in mind if you want to keep your spot and your scholarship.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you threatening me?”

“No.” She strode to the door and pulled it open before affixing a fake smile on her face and responding brightly, “I’m educating you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T
RENT

M
Y PHONE RANG AS
soon as I climbed onto the team charter bus. I already knew it was my mother. I ignored the call and pushed past my celebrating teammates to my seat. Cordy had saved a spot for me and smiled as soon as I came into view. I moved a little faster, the need to be close to her overwhelming my senses.