Page 59 of Floored

Lewis glanced in my direction and moved to do the same.

"No worries," I told him, "I'm right here." I pointed at the seat just to his right.

His face lifted in shock. "Ahh. Right then."

I held out my hand. "Lia. I take it Jude didn't tell you I'd be joining your family today."

With a rueful smile, he gave mine a brisk, hard shake. "No, but that doesn't surprise me. My brother is hardly forthcoming about the details of his personal life."

Because he said it with a warm tone and obvious love in his eyes, I didn't feel a surge of defensiveness for the man not here to defend himself.

"Are your parents coming?"

Lewis's smile faded just slightly at the edges. "I expect not."

Song erupted around us, and I whipped out my phone to take a video. Lewis watched me with an unveiled curiosity. Once I stopped recording, I shot a text off to Molly, knowing she'd get a kick out of it.

Each star player had a little song, and the fans—en masse—knew when to start singing them. Jude had one too, but I hadn't been able to remember the words once the match was over.

"Our fans in the States don't do stuff like that," I shouted over the din, hooking my thumb over my shoulder. "I think it's so cool!"

He nodded. "It's different here. Football transcends sport, if that makes sense." Lewis leaned in because I could hardly hear him. "For good and for bad, in fact. Some of the songs are bloody ruthless. One of the players on another team has a song about his wife because she started some drama passing stories to the papers. Didn't sit well with the fans."

"No way!" I laughed. "That's savage."

I tried to imagine that happening to Logan because Paige had been famous in her own right as a model when they first got married. He would've lost his mind if the fans had created a song about her.

"Jude told me a little about you right after you met," Lewis admitted, once the raucous song came to a close. "But I didn't know you were still ... seeing each other."

Given the jovial atmosphere, the electric happiness that the mood of the stadium gave me, I tried really, really hard not to let that bother me. I was twelve weeks pregnant with his child, and his brother knew nothing about me. Forced to pause our conversation because of a family of Shepperton fans passing in front of us, I took a moment to breathe out my disappointment in a few gulping breaths.

It was fine.

I'd kept Jude more than a little occupied the past few weeks, and if I was completely honest with myself, anytime his family came up, he changed the subject. He distracted me. And the last time I'd brought them up, I was the one who climbed onto his lap and rode him like a jockey rides a racehorse.

A grimace crossed my face before I could stop it.

I thought about what Atwood had told me, about my tendency to focus on the past to avoid an unknown future. I thought about how Jude had reacted to my lack of clarity of what I wanted to do with my degree once I'd finished it. And I thought about how easily he and I fell into the palpable chemistry between us to avoid the reality of our separate situations.

Hell, my reaction to my meeting with Atwood left me feeling so unsettled that I'd gotten my pregnant ass down on my knees in front of him. In fact, if he'd pushed the door open, I probably would've crossed that invisible barrier we had around having sex again. I would've willingly allowed him to sweep away all the icky feelings she'd planted with that one seed of a thought.

Lewis saw the look on my face, and I tried to erase it with a smile, but he held up his hands. "I'm sorry, that came out rude, didn't it?"

"No, it's fine, really. I've been with Jude a lot, and I've never seen him talk to you, so I should've guessed."

He smiled again, but this time, it held an edge of discomfort. Great. Excellent first impression.

I laid a hand on his arm. "Sometimes I forget not everyone is like my family. I have four sisters, and we talk constantly. Don't worry about it."

Lewis studied me again, and I felt a little bit like an animal in a zoo exhibit. And to your left, ladies and gentlemen, we have the exotic American female. The teams walked out of the tunnel, players holding hands with children of various ages, each wearing matching jerseys to the teams.

"Okay," I said to Lewis. "What's up with the little kids?"

He grinned. "They do it for a few reasons, but primarily, it's used to raise money. Parents can pay to have their kids walk out on the pitch with one of the players, but it also helps foster a sense of ... sportsmanship, I suppose. No one can rain down curses or throw cups at the opposing players when they walk out together with innocent British youth, eh?"

"Ahh. See, back home, we'd never take away our ability to be merciless with the away team. I think our heads would implode."

"How very American of you," he teased.

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