“I hurt him.”
“Something tells me he’ll forgive you.” James winks at me, then laughs. “My grumpy Chessie bear is dating the quarterback. Will wonders never cease?”
“I think James is a bit jealous,” Jamie teases.
“I’d like to point out that I had a crush on Manny before Chess met Finn, and before I met you.” James flicks the tip of his cigarette. “Now it would be too weird to keep him in the spank bank. I’d start picturing Chess’s disapproving face and…total bone kill.”
“You’re not supposed to have a spank bank now,” I say. “You have Jamie.”
“When I enter my bank, Jamie is always there to watch,” James retorts with an evil grin.
“TMI,” Jamie huffs, pinching him. “You’re going to give Chess indigestion.”
“Well, she’s killed prime fantasy material for me so we’re even.”
I know Jamie is embarrassed on my behalf, but I also know James is trying to distract me. He’s doing a good job of it. We exchange a secret smile between us, one that’s gotten us through a lot of tough times. Gratitude fills me, and I want to hug my best friend. He gives me a little wink in silent reply.
“I’d flip you off,” I say with false annoyance, “but it’s too cold.”
I tuck my icy hands under my arms.
“Come on.” James snuffs his cigarette on the side of the building then tosses the butt into a nearby trash can. “Let’s find a bar and watch your boyfriend play.”
Three doors down, we find a bar that, no surprise to anyone, is showing the game on multiple TVs. Patrons are yelling at the screen and I see that the score is seven to fourteen, and New Orleans is down. Given that Finn’s team is playing against New York, everyone is ecstatic.
We get our beers at the bar and then James finds us a seat by the door, facing one of the TVs, and we sit down as Finn and his offense trot back on the field. I can’t see his face behind the helmet he wears, but just the sight of the number ten on his jersey has my heart clenching.
Although his team is currently losing, he moves with authority, bringing his guys in for a huddle. They’re on their home turf and the crowd chants for Finn. The commentator on the TV spews on about the offense not being at their best in games past and how Finn has struggled throughout the season to regain control.
“That’s why our defense is gonna kick your ass, Manny,” a guy at the bar shouts.
I know it’s not personal; it’s part of the game. But it feels personal. I want to yell at the guy to either put on a uniform and try it or shut the fuck up.
James reads me well. “Easy there, tiger.”
My fingers grip the edges of my chair. “I’m fine.”
On the screen, the next drive begins. I don’t know much about football. Next to nothing really, but watching Finn makes my breath catch and pride swell through my chest. He is beautiful in the way rare and powerful things are.
Finn catches the ball hiked to him by Dex, and then he dances back, his guys protecting him. To me, it’s a scramble, the defense scurrying around like mad ants trying to get him, the offense scurrying like mad ants running this way and that. All the while Finn remains the center of calm.
He cocks his arm back and throws, heedless of the big barn of a guy hurtling toward him. The ball flies through the air like it’s on a string. But my eyes are on Finn. Unfortunately, the camera follows the ball as it shoots downfield toward Jake.
The guys at the bar shout. Jake arcs in the air like a ballerina, catches the ball, and lands in an inelegant heap as a bunch of defenders tackle him. But he keeps the ball.
“Right through traffic!” James slams his fist on the table in victory as the rest of the bar groans.
I grin wide. The camera goes back to Finn who jumps once and then pumps his fist once. As Jake runs back to the huddle, Finn smacks him on the butt in congratulations.
“Come on Defense,” annoying bar dude shouts, doing that annoying rapid clap thing.
I ignore it and watch Finn. This time he passes the ball off to North who doesn’t get very far, much to the bar’s delight.
Doesn’t matter. I can sense the difference in Finn’s game. He has a rhythm going, a confidence about him. He’s playing to win. I’m so proud of him that I have to bite my lips to keep from shouting my encouragement to the screen, because, really it’s not like he can hear me. And yet, some small, shitty dark corner of my mind feels distress. Because he is playing better now. Without me in his life.
It could be a fluke. But they haven’t lost a game since I’ve been gone.
The announcer babbles on about Finn being in the zone. He is. This is what he does best.
And you love him. And if he knew that, he’d be…
My thoughts scatter because Finn has the ball again. This time he scrambles back, guys honing in on him.
At the bar, the crowd shouts at the defense to take him down, knock his ass flat. But Finn isn’t an easy target. He evades like the pro that he is.
My stomach clenches, my heart kicking my ribs. A lineman hooks Finn around his waist. My fingernails dig into the wood. But Finn swings around, somehow slipping out of his grip.
James shouts.
Finn zings a pass to North, who takes off down the end zone.
James jumps to his feet. Somehow I’m on my feet too and we booth cheer as North races along.
“Touchdown,” James cries, throwing up his arms. I laugh and pump a fist in the air.
“Man, shut up,” someone says behind us. We ignore him and wiggle our hips.
Finally, they show Finn on the sidelines, helmet off, as he sits on a bench next to Jake and they laugh about something. Sweat slicks his hair and his cheeks are ruddy. But his smile is big and infectious. He’s so damn gorgeous, my fingers ache to touch him. It hurts my heart to look at him, but I don’t dare blink.
It nearly kills me with they cut away to the other team.