Cameron Cole has a plan.
After yet another relationship ends because of certain shortcomings-literally-Cameron decides it's time to swear off dating and focus her energy into her junior year at the University of Charlotte. There's an internship up...
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The living room is a sea of overlapping conversations, clinking cutlery, and a constant stream of cheers and groans as everyone squashes together to watch the Clemson Tigers vs. Charlotte Colts Thanksgiving rivalry game.
Plates balance precariously on knees, and the smell of turkey and mashed potatoes lingers in the air. The kids are all on the floor in front of the flat screen, while the adults are spread out on the sofas, random dining table chairs, desk chairs, and old beach chairs from the garage.
Nana Bea still has the best seat in the house in Dad's armchair—even better because Armand has to hand-feed her the green beans.
The Colts are winning—but barely—and the tension in the room is palpable.
I shift in my spot on the armrest of the couch, trying to keep my focus on the game.
I watch him on the screen, dressed in that crisp white away uniform, that TrueBlue number 10 stretched over his broad chest, white helmet gleaming under the stadium lights.
Dear lord.
It should be illegal to look like that. To move like that.
Wes steps up to the line of scrimmage, helmet tilted slightly as he scans the defense, reading them like a book.
He's saying something.
Shouting, actually.
Barking out commands, adjusting the formation like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like it's not making me wet just watching him.
"What's he saying?" Brynn, my ten-year-old cousin, tugs on my sleeve, eyes wide as she looks between me and the screen.
"Yeah, what's he yelling?" Ellie, her little sister, echoes.
I exhale through my nose.
"He's calling an audible," I mumble, leaning closer to them but keeping my eyes on the screen. "See how he's pointing at the line? He's changing the play at the last second."
Ellie frowns with an adorable tilt to her head when I flick a gaze her way. "Why?"
I glance at the screen as Wes takes a step back, pointing at something, his mouth moving fast beneath his helmet.
Because he sees something.
Because the defense is shifting.
Because he already knows exactly what's about to happen.
"Because the defense is showing blitz," I say, barely realizing I'm talking. "They're about to send extra pressure, so he needs to make some changes if they want to get the ball forward."
