Golden Trail
Page 80
“You want coffee?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, I’m good.”
“I’m going to go say hi to Dad.”
“All right, sweetcheeks.”
She grinned at him and then, surprising him again, she got up on her toes and touched her mouth briefly to his. Apparently lip touches weren’t restricted in her contract. Or maybe they were allowed when the school activity was on another school’s property.
Good to know.
“Be back,” she whispered and then moved away.
He watched her strut through the crowd and kept watching her doing it as she climbed the bleachers and then scooted in to sit by her Dad. He also kept watching as she burrowed under her father’s arm until it moved around her shoulders and she stayed close, turned to her old man, smiling up at him.
“Gotta say, Tanner, your woman can strut,” Cal noted on a rumble and Layne tore his eyes from Rocky and looked at Cal.
“Rocky started strutting when she was three years old,” Colt remarked.
“She’d need to start then considering she’s perfected the art,” Cal returned.
“What are you talkin’ about, Joe?” Keira asked Cal, her head tipped back to look up at her stepfather and when she did he hooked her with an arm around her upper chest and pulled her in front of him, muttering through a grin, “Nothin’, girl.”
Layne chuckled and took his place at the fence. Jasper and Seth, the captains of the team, were out in the middle of the field for the coin toss. It was almost time to roll.
Then Layne stood in the bitter cold with Colt and Cal through the first quarter and two minutes into the second before he was done standing with Colt and Cal in the bitter cold. The ‘dogs were holding their own, zero to zero, this being the score because their defense kicked ass but their offense sucked.
Layne being done meant, when the ‘dogs tried and failed to kick a desperate-to-get-on-the-board field goal that was well beyond the capabilities of their sophomore kicker, who was good, but who wasn’t playing for the Colts, and the ball was changing sides, Layne turned and looked up at Rocky to see she was still cuddled into her Dad. He put his tongue to his teeth and gave a loud, sharp whistle. Raquel’s eyes went from the field to him and he lifted his hand and crooked a finger at her.
It was night and she wasn’t exactly close but the field was bright and he could see her roll her eyes. She gave her father a peck on the cheek, reached out to squeeze Spike and Ernie’s hands then she scooted back along the front of the other spectators to the aisle and made her way down to him.
“You called?” she asked when she got to him.
He hooked her with an arm around her neck, turned her, pulled her back to his front and wrapped his arm around her upper chest, his other arm around her ribs. Positioning her in front of him at the fence, he dipped his head and, in her ear, whispered, “I’m cold, sweetcheeks. Need somethin’ to keep me warm.”
Her body had grown stiff when he’d taken hold of her and stayed that way for three seconds then she relaxed on an annoyed sigh but both her hands came up to wrap around his forearm at her chest before she muttered, “At your service.”
Layne lifted his head, grinned and turned his eyes to the field.
He kept her close the rest of the quarter and it happened thirty seconds to half-time.
The ‘dogs were fifteen yards out from their goal line, it was fourth down and for some asinine reason, Cosgrove kept his kicker on the bench and called a passing play. All the eligible receivers scrambled, Jasper got open but the QB ignored him and threw toward Cosgrove’s heavily defended son in the end zone. This time, Seth Cosgrove didn’t intentionally blow the play. He went all out, it was plain to see, but with three defenders, he was no match for it and was intercepted. Seth didn’t hesitate, he bore down on the opposing player, deflected a block and made a diving tackle, wrapping his arms around the player’s legs, taking him down on the five yard line.
Visibly and justifiably angry, Seth tore his chin guard down and ripped off his helmet as he jogged to the sidelines. Five feet into the field, his father was there to greet him and he greeted him with a vicious, open-palmed tag to the side of the head, making his boy lurch two steps to the side.
“What the f**k was that?” Cosgrove shouted, bearing down on him again and then he brought both hands up in fists and sent them crashing down on his son’s shoulder pads so hard, the boy’s knees buckled and he almost went down, his father still shouting, “Hunh? Seth? What the f**k was that!” Another crash, this one more brutal, the sound of his fists hitting the pads cracking through the suddenly silent night, then came another.
Rocky had frozen in his arms but Layne didn’t hesitate. He set her aside, put two hands on the top of the chain link fence and pushed himself up, throwing his legs over. Colt was doing the same as Cal followed but Layne’s gaze was riveted to the Coach and his boy as Cosgrove landed another open-palmed blow to the side of his son’s head, sending Seth stumbling down on a knee.
Jasper was closer and got there before Layne, Cal and Colt even though they were all three sprinting.
“Coach!” Jasper yelled, using both his hands to wrap around Cosgrove’s raised arm and Cosgrove turned, hard, yanking back his arm and he caught Jasper in the chest with his elbow causing Jasper to stagger back into two other players and another coach, all who were close.
“Sit your ass down, Layne!” Cosgrove bellowed at Jasper as Layne, Colt and Cal hit the scene then Cosgrove’s eyes shot to Layne. “Parents off the field!”
“Locker room,” Layne growled, Cosgrove’s face went pale when he caught the look on Layne’s but then his chest puffed out as an official jogged up.
“You can’t call me out in the middle of a f**kin’ game!” Cosgrove roared as the whistle blew.
“Unsportsmanlike conduct,” the ref shouted, his arms straight out, palms down, his shout scratchy because he was pissed. “Fifteen yards!” Then he leaned into Cosgrove, stuck a pointed finger in his face and clipped, “Get a handle on it, Cosgrove, or you’re off the field and I’m only lettin’ you stay on it ‘cause this is the last thirty seconds of your last game. Do not even think of comin’ back after half-time.” He leaned in further and hissed, “And by God, you better brace man, because after that shit, I’ll see to it you’re suspended permanently.”
“Locker room,” Colt repeated Layne’s words and the referee and Cosgrove’s eyes went to Colt. “Hand off to Fullerton and get your ass off the field.” Cosgrove opened his mouth to speak and Colt leaned in and warned, “You got one second, man, before you’re in cuffs.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m good.”
“I’m going to go say hi to Dad.”
“All right, sweetcheeks.”
She grinned at him and then, surprising him again, she got up on her toes and touched her mouth briefly to his. Apparently lip touches weren’t restricted in her contract. Or maybe they were allowed when the school activity was on another school’s property.
Good to know.
“Be back,” she whispered and then moved away.
He watched her strut through the crowd and kept watching her doing it as she climbed the bleachers and then scooted in to sit by her Dad. He also kept watching as she burrowed under her father’s arm until it moved around her shoulders and she stayed close, turned to her old man, smiling up at him.
“Gotta say, Tanner, your woman can strut,” Cal noted on a rumble and Layne tore his eyes from Rocky and looked at Cal.
“Rocky started strutting when she was three years old,” Colt remarked.
“She’d need to start then considering she’s perfected the art,” Cal returned.
“What are you talkin’ about, Joe?” Keira asked Cal, her head tipped back to look up at her stepfather and when she did he hooked her with an arm around her upper chest and pulled her in front of him, muttering through a grin, “Nothin’, girl.”
Layne chuckled and took his place at the fence. Jasper and Seth, the captains of the team, were out in the middle of the field for the coin toss. It was almost time to roll.
Then Layne stood in the bitter cold with Colt and Cal through the first quarter and two minutes into the second before he was done standing with Colt and Cal in the bitter cold. The ‘dogs were holding their own, zero to zero, this being the score because their defense kicked ass but their offense sucked.
Layne being done meant, when the ‘dogs tried and failed to kick a desperate-to-get-on-the-board field goal that was well beyond the capabilities of their sophomore kicker, who was good, but who wasn’t playing for the Colts, and the ball was changing sides, Layne turned and looked up at Rocky to see she was still cuddled into her Dad. He put his tongue to his teeth and gave a loud, sharp whistle. Raquel’s eyes went from the field to him and he lifted his hand and crooked a finger at her.
It was night and she wasn’t exactly close but the field was bright and he could see her roll her eyes. She gave her father a peck on the cheek, reached out to squeeze Spike and Ernie’s hands then she scooted back along the front of the other spectators to the aisle and made her way down to him.
“You called?” she asked when she got to him.
He hooked her with an arm around her neck, turned her, pulled her back to his front and wrapped his arm around her upper chest, his other arm around her ribs. Positioning her in front of him at the fence, he dipped his head and, in her ear, whispered, “I’m cold, sweetcheeks. Need somethin’ to keep me warm.”
Her body had grown stiff when he’d taken hold of her and stayed that way for three seconds then she relaxed on an annoyed sigh but both her hands came up to wrap around his forearm at her chest before she muttered, “At your service.”
Layne lifted his head, grinned and turned his eyes to the field.
He kept her close the rest of the quarter and it happened thirty seconds to half-time.
The ‘dogs were fifteen yards out from their goal line, it was fourth down and for some asinine reason, Cosgrove kept his kicker on the bench and called a passing play. All the eligible receivers scrambled, Jasper got open but the QB ignored him and threw toward Cosgrove’s heavily defended son in the end zone. This time, Seth Cosgrove didn’t intentionally blow the play. He went all out, it was plain to see, but with three defenders, he was no match for it and was intercepted. Seth didn’t hesitate, he bore down on the opposing player, deflected a block and made a diving tackle, wrapping his arms around the player’s legs, taking him down on the five yard line.
Visibly and justifiably angry, Seth tore his chin guard down and ripped off his helmet as he jogged to the sidelines. Five feet into the field, his father was there to greet him and he greeted him with a vicious, open-palmed tag to the side of the head, making his boy lurch two steps to the side.
“What the f**k was that?” Cosgrove shouted, bearing down on him again and then he brought both hands up in fists and sent them crashing down on his son’s shoulder pads so hard, the boy’s knees buckled and he almost went down, his father still shouting, “Hunh? Seth? What the f**k was that!” Another crash, this one more brutal, the sound of his fists hitting the pads cracking through the suddenly silent night, then came another.
Rocky had frozen in his arms but Layne didn’t hesitate. He set her aside, put two hands on the top of the chain link fence and pushed himself up, throwing his legs over. Colt was doing the same as Cal followed but Layne’s gaze was riveted to the Coach and his boy as Cosgrove landed another open-palmed blow to the side of his son’s head, sending Seth stumbling down on a knee.
Jasper was closer and got there before Layne, Cal and Colt even though they were all three sprinting.
“Coach!” Jasper yelled, using both his hands to wrap around Cosgrove’s raised arm and Cosgrove turned, hard, yanking back his arm and he caught Jasper in the chest with his elbow causing Jasper to stagger back into two other players and another coach, all who were close.
“Sit your ass down, Layne!” Cosgrove bellowed at Jasper as Layne, Colt and Cal hit the scene then Cosgrove’s eyes shot to Layne. “Parents off the field!”
“Locker room,” Layne growled, Cosgrove’s face went pale when he caught the look on Layne’s but then his chest puffed out as an official jogged up.
“You can’t call me out in the middle of a f**kin’ game!” Cosgrove roared as the whistle blew.
“Unsportsmanlike conduct,” the ref shouted, his arms straight out, palms down, his shout scratchy because he was pissed. “Fifteen yards!” Then he leaned into Cosgrove, stuck a pointed finger in his face and clipped, “Get a handle on it, Cosgrove, or you’re off the field and I’m only lettin’ you stay on it ‘cause this is the last thirty seconds of your last game. Do not even think of comin’ back after half-time.” He leaned in further and hissed, “And by God, you better brace man, because after that shit, I’ll see to it you’re suspended permanently.”
“Locker room,” Colt repeated Layne’s words and the referee and Cosgrove’s eyes went to Colt. “Hand off to Fullerton and get your ass off the field.” Cosgrove opened his mouth to speak and Colt leaned in and warned, “You got one second, man, before you’re in cuffs.”
