Page 119 of Your Play to Call
“Our timeline?” I smirk at her because I love hearing her fucking say that.
“It’s your play to call, but that’s what I’d prefer.” She’s reserved and fidgety.
“Our timeline. Our call. I’m in.”
And I kiss her for eachI’m sorry, I missed you,andI love youthat I haven’t had a chance to say.
Chapter 65
Willow
2 months later
“We can’t be late to the fucking Super Bowl, Willow!” Emilie screams at me from the guest bedroom in Tripp’s penthouse apartment. I roll my eyes as I delicately put my pink lipstick on.
“We’re not going to be late. We’re already in the city!”
The Super Bowl is being played at one of the other New York stadiums. Even though it’s not a home game for the Cosmos, it sort of is.
“Did you check the line for the game? Has it moved at all?” I ask Emilie about the betting line. I want to know what Vegas thinks about the matchup: the Seattle Serpents versus the Upstate Cosmos. The NFL couldn’t have asked for a better storybook ending to this season.
The Upstate Cosmos stole a playoff spot with some late season magic, which gave Tripp the chance to play again this year. Not only has Tripp played every playoff game, but he’s scored at least one touchdown in each. His obsession with training really paid off when it came to rehab. There’s still a substantial risk of him injuring the same shoulder, but he wants to play, and I’m there to support him every step of the way.
Every day, I am proud of him.
“The line is -1.5, Seattle!” my dad yells from the living room.
“I can’t believe they’re still banking on Tripp not being 100%. Can’t wait for them to eat those bets!” Emilie yells loud enough for everyone to hear and they clap in response.
My parents, and Wendy, are also hanging out at Tripp’s before the game. Tripp stayed at the team hotel last night, even though it’s practically a home game, and it’s been great spending time with everyone. I’ve never had a core group like this.
Yesterday, I had my settlement meeting with the label. While they fired Erik, for other complaints other than mine, we still decided that going our separate ways was best. We’ve been great for each other during the last decade, but I’m ready to move to a smaller, female-owned label.
True Blue Records.
My own.
Emilie is the one who asked me about it, all nonchalant, like it was a stupid question. I’ve learned so much about the industry and I’m happy to grow a small label for other artists who need to be heard. It’s in the early stages now, but I will be releasing my new album under that label. Plus, I paid Emilie a massive advance to ensure she’s always involved, one way or another.
I stand in front of the mirror in Tripp’s bedroom, or our bedroom I guess you could say. After my grand gesture at the game, Tripp and I exchanged keys. We rarely spend nights apart and try to do what’s best for both of our schedules and careers. He’s my biggest fan and I try doing the same for him.
My outfit, courtesy of the trifecta (Mom, Wendy, and Emilie), is a custom Tripp Owen’s jersey, but sewed into a dress. It tapers in at the waist and flows out, hitting mid-thigh. I paired the dress with shimmery tights, because how often are those appropriate? Tonight is the perfect occasion. The jersey is white which means my thigh-high boots are Cosmos blue.
No one knows about the special lingerie set I have on underneath the jersey. I called Emilie’s friend with the boutique in the city and she mademe the most beautiful black lace set, with Tripp’s number in the center of the bra.
My heart is full as I stand in Tripp’s jersey, hearing the sounds of my parents in the living room. Emilie’s laugh carries and I know she’s doing her pre-game handshake with Wendy.
There’s eight seconds onthe clock, it’s fourth and 9, and the Cosmos are down by five points. It doesn’t matter that it’s fourth down because this is it—there’s only time for a single play. The Cosmos have to get a play off before the nine seconds are over, but it technically could go longer than nine seconds. The suite is stressed, considering there have been seven lead changes throughout the game.
I see the personnel coming in for the final play and notice something. Zack. For some reason, the long snapper is on the field for an offensive play.
Emilie squeezes my hand when she sees Zack on the field, her wide eyes finding mine.
We know this can only mean one thing. A trick play.
There’s no air to breathe. My lungs no longer function. I squeeze Emilie’s hands, probably too tight, she just pulls me closer to her.
The offense lines up, the referee blows the whistle, and the play clock starts to tick.
