Brady and Lizzie had been dating for a few months, and things were finally starting to heat up. Brady, a massive football fanatic, tended to let his sports metaphors bleed into every aspect of his life—including the bedroom.
One Friday night, as they finally got settled under the sheets, Brady leaned over and whispered huskily, “Alright Lizzie, I’m calling an audible. We’re going deep tonight. No huddle, high tempo, and I’m looking for a massive score in the end zone.”
Lizzie giggled, playing along. “Just make sure you don’t fumble the snap, Brady. I’ve got a very tight defensive line.”
Things were progressing beautifully until about forty-five seconds in, when Brady suddenly stiffened, let out a long breath, and collapsed onto the pillows.
Lizzie blinked, looking at the clock on the nightstand. “That’s it? That was the whole game?”
Brady panted, looking up at her with an exhausted but proud grin. “Sorry, babe. Under further review, the runner’s knee was down.”
Lizzie sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, I hope you’ve got a good post-game show planned, because according to my stats, you just set a record for the shortest possession in league history.”
Brady shrugged sheepishly. “Hey, look at the bright side, Lizzie… at least I still have two timeouts left.”
