The Plays We Fake: A Fake Dating Football Romance by Brooke O'Brien

Author:Brooke O'Brien [O'Brien, Brooke]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Author Brooke O'Brien LLC
Published: 2024-03-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Hayes

“It’s go time, brother. Let’s go out there and fuckin’ do what we do best.” Beckham knocks his helmet against mine, and I nod.

Everything we’ve busted our ass for all season has led to this moment. We knew all season that if it was us against the Falcons, we’d have our work cut out for us.

It would take everyone together, doing their job, to pull out this win.

“All gas, no fuckin’ brakes,” I grunt, and Beckham smacks me on my shoulder pads, amping me up.

He claps hands with Colter and Reed, bringing them in for a hug before turning to Knox and Zane to do the same.

The crowd is damn near deafening when we take the field. They’ve been talking about it all week. Tickets sold out in a matter of minutes. Screaming and cheering fans filled the stands for the season's biggest game.

Everly made the drive with Willow and a couple of her girlfriends. I checked my phone before warm-ups to find a text saying they made it safely.

Until we met, Everly had never been to a football game before, and now she is traveling to away games to watch me play.

The Falcons went up two touchdowns in the first half. I’m trying not to let shit get in my head, but after dropping a critical pass, forcing us to score a field goal, it’s hard not to let the frustration trickle in.

I’m standing on the sidelines, watching the defense pull out a huge stop, forcing a third and long.

“I’m gonna be lookin’ for you.” Beckham steps up beside me.

I nod, not taking my eyes off the field. Only two minutes are left in the third quarter. We need our defense to get the Falcons off the field. If we can force them into a third and out, we’ll have a chance to score, and I’ll feel a lot better going into the fourth quarter, cutting their lead to four points.

The Falcons snap the ball and run their play. Out of nowhere, Knox comes squeezing through the defensive line like a missile heading for Sullivan, their quarterback.

Sullivan goes to make the pass with Knox barreling at him, but he jumps, managing to tip the ball. They scramble to the ground to secure the fumble inside the Bulldogs’ red zone.

“Go, go, go,” I shout, jumping and whipping my arm in the air.

The refs blow the whistle and motion toward our end zone, signaling Braysen has possession.

“Holy shit! Hell yes,” I shout. “Hell fuckin’ yes.”

The defense jogs to the sidelines. I clap Knox on the shoulder, yelling, “Good job!” as we take the field.

Beckham runs one play. Their defense is on me, double-teaming, likely expecting he’d be looking to pass me the ball. Thankfully, Zane manages to get open and score.

When the field goal unit comes on after us, I pull off my helmet and hang it on the rack behind our bench and take a seat.

“You good?” Reed asks, collapsing onto the bench next to me.

“I’m good.” I nod. “I’d be better if we could put some more points on the board, though.

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