“This is not filling me with an undying love for the sport of football,” I inform him.

Jace simply tosses the ball to me again. I miss, again.

The same pattern continues until I’ve lost count of the number of throws and missed catches.

“You can’t honestly expect me to think you’re not uncoordinated after this,” Jace remarks, returning to my side.

“Okay, well, this has been fun,” I say sarcastically, turning to leave.

“Wait.” Jace grabs my arm for the second time this morning, and my traitorous body refuses to move away from his touch. “Just try one more thing.” He leads me out further onto the empty field, then suddenly bends over.

I come to an abrupt stop, bewildered. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to snap the ball to you,” Jace replies.

“What does that even mean?” I question, trying to recall any mention of snapping from my football lessons. I come up blank.

Jace straightens and glances over his shoulder at me. “It’s when the center passes the ball to the quarterback.”

“That clarifies nothing.”

“Haven’t you seen players do this during the game?” Jace asks, squatting down in the same position before standing again.

“Ah, yeah, so…I’ve never actually watched a football game,” I admit.

Jace makes a face that seems like a more appropriate response to telling him I murdered someone.

“You’ve never watched a football game?”

“Nope. Have you ever been sailing?” I counter.

“I’m from Nebraska,” Jace informs me.

“So? What does that have to do with it?” I ask.

“Nebraska is the only triply landlocked state. Not a lot of sailing done there.”

“Pretty sure we’re in Michigan at the moment,” I point out.

“No, I’ve never been sailing.” Jace lets out an exasperated sigh.

I attempt to mimic the same look of shocked outrage he just gave me. Jace shakes his head, but I catch the ghost of a smile before he turns back around and crouches on the grass again, holding the football between his outstretched legs.

“Ready?” he calls. I don’t have much time to respond before he spouts a few words of gibberish and sends the ball sailing between his legs and directly at me. Unsurprisingly, I miss catching it.

In addition to the lack of coordination I was already struggling with, I am now also having to contend with the very distracting view of Jace’s defined calves and tight shorts directly in front of me.

He’s surprisingly patient, offering me suggestions between each of my fumbled catches. Finally, my growling stomach forces me to focus, as I grow increasingly concerned Jace plans to keep us out here until I complete some sort of football play.

At long last, the odds I catch the ball finally seem to outweigh the odds I won’t. The weathered football lands neatly in my outstretched hands.

I stand there in shock for a split second, then do the only logical thing.

I run.

Despite the exhausting workout I’ve already put my legs through today, they cooperate without complaint as my long strides eat up the green grass. White lines fly past me in a blur. Dimly, I imagine how this sensation must feel coupled with a packed stadium of screaming fans and the thrill of an opponent close behind.