Quarterback Sneak Romane & Geschichten

The guy who caught it managed to get about fifteen yards before Detroit piled onto him. Special teams ran off, and Richmond's offensive line trotted onto the field. I kept my eyes glued to Leo, darting now and then to the quarterback, Gideon Maynard. Leo had mentioned Maynard before; they weren't as close as Corey and Leo were, but everything he'd said about the QB had been positive. I let my gaze wander over the women around us, curious to see what kind of wife or girlfriend he might have. "Does the quarterback have anyone here?" I bent my head close to Ellie to ask her the question.

Ray mumbles, and when Alex glances over at him again with a confused frown, he adds, "I found some pictures of you, and you were wearing your uniform and gear in a couple of them. Your teenage time pictures" "Oh, okay." Is all Alex can say, and he hates himself for sounding so dumb. He clears his throat and tries to recover quickly. "So what position do you play?" A small, shy smile splays on Ray's lips as he fumbles with his fingers a bit, then looks up at Alex and says, "Quarterback." He says it in a small but proud voice. "Nice, me too." Alex says, smiling broadly and proudly. "And you like it?"

again, the version who didn’t let anything distract him from the next snap, the next read, the next win. They didn’t see the cracks spiderwebbing underneath. Like the overthrow in Tuesday’s red-zone drill. Ball came out clean, tight spiral, perfect arc—except I hung it half a second too long. Receiver had to lay out full extension, fingertips barely snagging it before it hit the turf. Coach’s whistle sliced the air. “Cruz! Timing!” Teammates laughed it off—“QB-1 got a daydream?”—and I flashed the signal for reset, jaw locked so tight it ached.

No way he could not feel how I was reacting, mo way he could miss the way my breathing had gone shallow. “Cut it out” I warned, grabbing his wrist to pull him off but he resisted leaning in more, his forearm flexing as he held position. “Relax quarterback” he murmured his mouth close enough that his lips almost brushed my skin. “I am just doing what the coach said.” His fingers moved again sliding along the seam of the jock tracing the ridge of my shaft through the mesh. The contact was light but electric and my hips jerked up before I could stop them.

With one minute to go, my heart about to completely explode out of my chest, they set up the play. “Ready? Set! Hike!” The ball flies into Asher’s hands, and he fakes a pass to a player behind him. He turns and sprints as his teammates push players out of the way, hold others back, or run behind their quarterback as he grows closer to the endzone.

The team's offensive coordinator stood right beside him, his arms crossed over his chest, watching his new quarterback with an intense focus. "The secondary is running a late disguise on the safety rotation, Cole," the coordinator said, his voice sharp against the stadium noise. "You have exactly three seconds after the snap to identify the trigger and make the adjustment. Are you going to keep staring at the grass, or are you going to move the line?"

And Evelyn… Evelyn was sitting on the improvised sofa, wearing a Jets t-shirt that Eleanor had lent her, her golden eyes shining with excitement. She had never watched a Super Bowl before, had grown up without television, without family, without football Sundays. Now she was immersed in the sports spirit like a fervent convert. “Who’s the quarterback?” She asked Eleanor, pointing at the television. “That one. Number seven.” “Is he good?” “He’s the best.” “Then I like him.”

“I won't have you disgrace me, I won't have you let the school get ridiculed once more. So you gotta put more effort and let's even out the score!” “Yes, Scott!!” “That's by the way, the team is due for a quarterback this year. Hence, I've made my decision after thorough review. I'm presenting to you Damon Calloway as your newest quarterback. Ha! Ha!” His unnecessary laughter followed his announcement as he clapped, urging his team to do the same.

Brett's imposing figure loomed before me, his piercing hazel eyes seeming to see right through me. The quarterback's rugged charm was undeniable, from the chiseled lines of his athletic build to the unruly mess of dark hair that framed his strong features. The overwhelming scent of Axe body spray clung to him like a cloud, an unmistakable signature that seemed to announce his presence. As he stood there, clad in his worn quarterback jersey, I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the sheer force of his personality.