Clay stood, batting his lashes as he clasped his hands by his chin. “Oh, Shawn! I love that song! Oh, Shawn, what big hands you have! All the better to play that big, bad guitar with. Oh, Shawn!”

I picked up a piece of bacon that had fallen out of my omelet and flicked it at him before he could continue, loving the roar of a laugh that came from him when I did.

“I’ve got to run,” he said, looking at the time on his phone before he tucked it away. “I’m meeting Holden for some drills.”

“It’s Sunday. Your day off,” I reminded him. “You just played a game yesterday.”

He shrugged. “When you want to be the best, there are no days off.” Then, he paused. “Are you… okay this morning?”

I flushed, looking down at my plate. “A little sore, but… yes.”

“Good.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but never did. Instead, he swiped his hoodie off the back of the barstool where he’d left it the night before.

Then, he leaned in and swiftly kissed my cheek.

“Thanks for breakfast, Kitten,” he said.

He was gone in the next moment.

And suddenly, my apartment felt a lot more empty.

Chapter Sixteen

Clay

“Watch, watch!” I yelled to Dane at our next game, pointing to where a wide receiver had just jogged from in front of me, down the line, to land in front of him, instead. He nodded affirmatively, and I bent low, fingers wiggling at my sides as I glared at the player across from me through the metal of my helmet.

There were only twenty seconds left on the clock, and we were beating the Philadelphia Lions by three points. But if they got close enough to kick a field goal, we’d be going into overtime.

I was not going into overtime.

Especially not on my birthday.

“Shut it down, boys!” someone screamed from the sidelines. It sounded a lot like Zeke, and I sank even lower in my crouch, determination prickling my skin.

The ball was snapped, and the quarterback fell into the pocket with his eyes scanning. They needed at least fifteen more yards to be in a good field goal position, and it was third down — so I knew he would launch it.

His eyes flicked to the receiver who had gone down by Dane, but Dane was on him like white on rice. So the QB kept searching, and when our defensive line started to break through, he panicked, launching the ball down the middle of the field.

I kicked against the turf as hard as I could, juking the receiver I was covering to run toward the tight end who was wide open. Dane caught on a second after I did, but he was too late. Even after he started running, I knew he wouldn’t get there in time.