Page 78 of A Sky Full Of Stars

“I still don’t like it,” he grates, and I swear I see his nose flare. “But that helps.”

I hold back another smirk, appreciating that he cares, and instead get a move on. “Come on,” I say, walking toward the stairwell. “You go first and then—”

“Hellno. I’m not leaving you up here. You go. I’ll follow in a minute.”

He stares at me with unwavering passion, and I give in. “Okay, sure. I’ll leave Seattle’s quarterback up here to burn while I save myself,” I mumble half under my breath.

Thomas suppresses a smile before he subtly nudges me toward the door, his grin full of satisfaction when I do as I’m told. “Go. I’ll see you down there.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lainey

I’m so worked up the next day that when the guys run onto the field, I actually question who’s more nervous, me or Thomas. Although, according to the text he sent me this morning, he’s not nervous at all. But I know he’s holding back, and I hate that we didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday.

After a long walk down the stairs, the fire alarm blaring the entire time, my plan to leave was foiled with the fire department blocking the road. So rather than making my escape, I had to stand at the other end of the street and pretend I couldn’t feel Thomas sneaking glances my way as he chatted with his teammates, trying to act like I hadn’t been seconds away from getting naked with the man of the hour, the man everyone around me was discussing.

The women—“Have you seen how hot the new Seattle quarterback is? And he’s staying in our hotel,” and, “Oh my god, yes. Is that him down there?”blah blah blah.

And the men—“Surely he’s going to step up this time after the last loss. He can’t let us down again,” and, “Look at him smiling over there. Not a care in the world. Shouldn’t they be at practice or something?”

Both conversations, whether positive or negative, had me a little ragey, and I had to stop myself from speaking up. I would have loved to chat with Thomas again, but the second we got the all clear, the team disappeared together and I jumped inmy car to head home. The last thing he needed was more ammunition for the gossip.

Now as I watch the game, butterflies take possession of my chest cavity, and I’m completely on edge. I don’t want him to go through what he did last time. He’s a phenomenal player. He deserves to be praised and he needs this personal win. Even if he won’t admit it.

My heart races when he throws the first pass, jumping in the air as the ball makes its mark and the wide receiver catches it with ease.

Heath comes home just as Seattle scores a much-needed touchdown in the second half, and I force myself to inwardly cheer, not wanting questions on why I’m supporting the wrong team.

As the game goes on, I feel Heath’s gaze boring a hole in my back while I perch on the edge of the couch, biting my nails. It’s a close game, too close, and I have a strong feeling that San Francisco is going to come out on top.

“Since when do you watch football?” Heath asks when the tension gets high, and I almost snap back—since when are you home on a weekend—but I don’t want him to think I care.

“I’ve been watching football since I wasborn,” I say. “It’s pumped into my blood. You remember Luke, right?”

“Yes, but he playscollegefootball. How about I rephrase my question. Since when do you watch footballalone?”

“It’s San Francisco. They’re my team.” I barely look at him as I speak, but the silence in the air suggests that he doesn’t believe me, and I can’t say I’m shocked. For as much as I’ve tried not to outwardly support Seattle, I know I’ve slipped up.

“Have you ever met Thomas Kelly?” Heath asks out of nowhere, and I internally curse myself, realizing I’ve been busted.

“Huh?” I ask, my eyes glued to the TV like it’s a pivotal moment, praying they don’t go to a commercial.

“Thomas Kelly. The Seattle quarterback. Have you met him?”

“Ah yeah, I think so. Before I went to New York. I’m sure he came to one of Luke’s parties.”

Heath falls silent again, and I make the mistake of glancing his way, my muscles tensing when I find him on his phone. “Have you met him?” I ask, trying to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach, hoping to God whatever he’s doing has nothing to do with me.But who is he texting?

Heath makes a show of pressing send before looking back at me, acting like he didn’t know I was watching. “I actually have,” he says with a smile. “We were friends in college. I met him through Luke too.”

I’m a ball of nerves as my eyes bounce between the screen and Heath’s gaze, but I work hard to maintain my composure, trying to hide the tension in my body.

My only saving grace is that Luke can’t stand Heath at the moment, so if he is texting him, Luke’s likely to ignore it. He can be petty like that. “That’s cool,” I say with a shrug. “He seems to have done well for himself. He’s a rookie, right?”

“He is.” Heath makes his way closer, sinking into the seat beside me, throwing his arms up on the back of the couch before shooting me a cocky smile.

San Francisco’s wide receiver secures an amazing catch, and it takes me two seconds longer than it should to react, drawing further suspicion. So when the receiver races ahead, getting closer to the end zone, I cheer out, even though I don’t want them to score.

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