Loving the Quarterback

30

Logans POV

We made it to the fucking Super Bowl.

Undefeated the whole season, and we're playing at the fucking Super Bowl.

The locker room was rowdy this morning as we were all pumped for the game, but now on the field everyone is locked in. Focused on doing what we do best, winning.

When you're playing against a team who has almost the same record as you, there's no room for fucking around. We need to be at our best, and play like we've never played before. 

The Las Vegas temperature is a nice 66 degrees. Not scorching hot, cool enough to play a good game. 

I rotate my shoulder, stretching it and swinging my arm. 

I haven't played since I strained my rotator cuff. Not because I couldn't, but because we decided to wait. I made the decision. I wanted to tune my craft.

Which is also why it's the second quarter, and I still haven't been in the game yet.

We're waiting.

"Cowboys are down a touchdown. It's almost halftime and Foster still hasn't made an appearance on the field. Do you think he's still injured?" I hear one of the announcers say through the speaker. 

The camera pans over to me, but I pay no attention to it. I continue swinging my arm, loosening the muscle. 

"If they don't put him in now, are the ever going to put him in? The first two halves of the game are important Greg"

"Not to mention his dad is in the stands watching...The last time the Cowboys won the Super Bowl, was the last year Jack Foster played for them"

"Oh my god shut up!" Hazel groans from the bench next to me. "I'm two seconds from storming up there and ripping the mic from his old clammy hands"

I let out a breathy chuckle, shaking my head at her feistiness. My fiancée, now 33 weeks pregnant with it being February 12. Time has flown by, her round belly the first thing people notice about her now.

She probably shouldn't even be on the field right now, especially since she's due in about seven weeks. But she insisted, and we only allowed if she sat on the bench the whole time. She hired an assistant a while ago who helps out now and will take over when she's on maternity leave.

My eyes rake down her body as she eats an ice cream sandwich. "He's just doing his job baby" I tell her. "It doesn't bother me"

Hazel snorts rolling her eyes. 

The timer goes off, meaning that it's halftime now. Hazel all but shoves the rest of the ice cream sandwich down her throat, and puts her hands on the bench leaning to the side so that she can get up on her own. 

Without my help.

Which she's been stubbornly refusing for a week now.

"Are you ready for next quarter?" she asks siding next to me. "Take ass and kick names or whatever"

"Kick ass and take names baby" I chuckle wrapping my arm around her waist. "And I'm ready to get on the field and prove to everyone that I'm just as good as my father"

She turns towards me, taking my face in her hands and kissing my lips softly. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone" she whispers. "And you're not just as good, you're better"

You're not just as good, you're better.

Her words ring through my ears as I run out on the field. I ignore the noise of the crowd, and the words of the sportscasters. I hone into my body and my mind. On the field it's just me and my ball.