Chapter 12

“I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other,” Mal whispered in his ear.

His splayed fingers—with their massive ten-inch span from thumb to pinky—spread like tentacles around Quinn’s coiled waist, and he in turn experienced an electric thrill he still felt forbidden to know.5

As the November possibility of snow turned to December certainty, the Temps’ record improved in inverse proportion to Smalley’s mood. Dave Donaldson, it turned out, didn’t have the flu but colon cancer. With him and Lance out for the season at least, it was all on Quinn. Another man would’ve considered it a stroke of luck—no, a blessing from the gridiron gods—to have lost two quarterbacks and not only survived but thrived. Coach Smalley, however, was not another man.