Wildcat (Mavericks Tackle Love Book 1) by Max Monroe

Author:Max Monroe [Monroe, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: A Mavericks Tackle Love Novel, Book One
Publisher: Max Monroe LLC
Published: 2018-01-29T08:00:00+00:00

“Hut, hut!” I called around my mouthguard, one sharp spike of my toe into the turf beneath me. Sammy hiked the ball, a perfect spinning spiral to settle right in between my waiting hands.

One step, two, I dropped back and shuffled my feet as my eyes scanned the field in front of me. Pads clashed and grunts sounded, and with a quick shove off of his coverage, Sean broke free into the open field twenty yards out.

I snapped my arm back and let it fly, and I got in a millisecond of watching the ball sail through the air before my back met the ground and a harsh burst of air left my lungs.

Fortunately, this was one of my guys doing the tackling, so he shifted off of me quickly and reached down with a helping hand to get me back to my feet.

Game situations were a little different. Tackles ten times harder, insults and shit-talking filling the air like a thick fog, and I hadn’t even gotten started on the behind the scenes—away from the refs’ eyes—pinches, kicks, grabs, and little maneuvers meant to cause pain. Things most people wouldn’t understand until they were stuck under a pile of bodies, holding the football tight to their chest, while everyone within their reach tried their damnedest to make them drop the fucking ball.

“Sorry, Quinn,” Martinez apologized. “Couldn’t stop my momentum.”

I smiled around my mouthpiece and gave him a sound slap to the helmet. “Don’t worry, Teeny. I need a little warm-up for all the bell-ringing Pittsburgh is gonna do.”

His smile turned menacing. “Not if we have anything to say about it, QB.”

The whistle sounded, two sharp bleats in a row, and I turned to look for the culprit. Coach Bennett had a hand in the air and Mr. Lancaster, the owner of the Mavericks, was standing next to him—both of their eyes were on me.

I glanced back to Teeny, but Mr. Lancaster called my attention back with a shouted, “Yo, Bailey!”

Spitting out my guard and pulling my helmet from my head as I moved, I picked up the pace to a jog and headed for the side of the field. Mr. Lancaster turned and headed for the tunnel, and Coach Bennett jerked his head to indicate I should follow.

I turned my jog into a run.

Getting called over by the owner of the team during practice wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence. He was a good-natured guy, and he joked around with the best of us, but he was also my boss, and I’d skimped a little on sleep last night even though I’d physically needed it. I hoped he couldn’t tell.

I sure as hell couldn’t. In fact, I felt like I was on top of the world today, and my arm had been even better than usual. Apparently, late-night text-sex with Catharine Wild was good for my game.

I wonder what the real thing will do for it.

Shaking off those thoughts and preparing to face my boss, I made it to the mouth of the tunnel in no time.

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