Page 76 of Second Down Fake

No kissing until tomorrow, anyway.

He licked his lips and shook his head. “Yes, desperately, but also no.”

“Watching your girlish figure?”

He swiped the controller from my knee, bringing the TV back to life. “I don’t want to throw up greasy pizza on national television. Thank you very much.”

“Well, luckily, I’m completely fine with throwing up greasy pizza on national television. Or the big screen, anyway. No one’s mentioned whether I’m getting airtime on cable.”

While I hadn’t gone to Diego’s last game, I couldn’t avoid attending a Sunday home game. And I didn’t want to. Sure, I couldn’t trust myself to kiss Diego in the privacy of his home, but the post-game kiss was practically a contractual obligation. One I wished I wasn’t quite so enthusiastic to fulfill.

“No, and I talked to the stadium to make sure they lay off the reaction shots.” His brown eyes stayed glued to the screen, navigating a maze on screen.

“Good plan,” I muttered, ripping apart the crust and placing it on a plate on the coffee table. “Start shifting the focus off us as a couple and I can just disappear come Thanksgiving.”

Diego cocked his head, eyes sweeping from the TV to me. “Wait, what?”

“When I go back home for the holidays.” I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“But I thought the apartment lease went through the end of the year.” He set down the remote as the screen turned red.

“It does, but Becca’s grabbing the last of her furniture during New England’s bye week, right before Thanksgiving. I planned to fly back with her.”

“But the contract goes through December.”

“No. It’s through mid-November. James said the holidays would be a good time to just let everyone forget…” My throat constricted.

Diego locked his eyes on mine. “But you’re coming back, right? To Norwalk?”

I shrugged, unsure how to maneuver this conversation onto safe ground. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“It’s barely a month away.”

“Right,” I agreed with a forced smile. “Forever. Practically a lifetime. So, don’t worry your cute little quarterback brain about it another minute.”

“You know, quarterbacks are some of the most intelligent people on the field, right?” he asked with an indulgent smile.

“Yeah, the guys who can’t defend themselves from a tackle are the smartest,” I scoffed. “The smartest person on the field is the kicker because the rules say they’re practically untouchable. You rely on your O-line holding the pocket.”

Diego grinned. “Wow, was that Cassandra Barton talking about football like she understood the sport? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Becca is pissed I never bothered to learn for her. Then again, she never offered free tickets and booze if I took an interest in football. My interests are very easily bought.”

His arm rested against my thigh, and I resisted the urge to drop my head against his shoulder, refusing to allow my mind to wander back to the hotel room in Las Vegas. We’d moved on from Final Fantasy and onto Zelda. He completed the missions, handing over the controller so I could explore towns. During the game, I gave into the pull and rested my head on his shoulder.

“Hey, what are you doing week nine?” he asked, fingertips brushing mine as I reached a cave and handed him the controller.

“Is there a date associated with week nine, or do I solely exist in the world on pro football weeks now?”

“Two weeks from today.” He set the controller on his lap, Link bobbing on the screen at the entrance of the cave. “It’s bye week, so sort of a mid-season vacation.”

“Sounds fun,” I said, lifting my eyes to his face.

He rubbed the back of his neck, skin staining red. “Usually I go somewhere fun, but my mom’s husband called and…”

“And you want me to come up with a good excuse not to go?”

He laughed. “No. I want you to come with me.”

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