Page 120 of Kiss Me Tonight

And then he’s off, dashing to the right as he hightails it down the field. I pause only momentarily to admire his excellent form, then push forward, my knees extending as I sprint past Bobby, who’s playing wide receiver to Dominic’s quarterback.

Because, of course, the Hulk would play QB among his teenage disciples.

“Fall back, Harry!” he shouts now, bouncing up on his toes in that way only professional players do. He’s as heavy as a bull and still manages to prance around the field like he’s as limber and delicate as a ballerina.

I wait for Dominic to make the pass, my gaze following the arc of the ball as it spirals toward Harry’s hands—and then dart forward, yanking one of the orange flags from the teenager’s belt.

“Crap!”

Patting Harry’s shoulder in commiseration, I look to Dominic and wait for him to catch my eye. When he does, I lift my hand, middle and index fingers straight, and bring them to my eyes in the classic,I see yougesture.

With his ball cap facing backward, there’s no hiding the way his brows draw inward. He claps his hands, shouting, “Again!”

For a second time, I face off against Topher, whose eyes are narrowed as he drops into position.

I blow him a kiss. “No greeting this time, bud?”

Tweet!

It’s been years since I’ve played football with anyone but Topher in our front yard, but it all comes back to me instinctively. Sure, I’m a little heavier than I was in college—and that’s saying nothing about how much harder it is to run with larger, post-baby boobs. But the groove . . . I still have it.

In spades.

Spotting Dominic’s intent as he eyes Bobby midway down the field, I change gears and haul ass toward the end zone.

Ten yards.

Five yards.

I look up, expecting to see the ball coming straight down over my head into Bobby’s waiting arms when I hear, “Boo-yeah!” come from my left.Oh, no.Thighs protesting my abrupt pivot, I watch in awe as Dominic sprints down the field to make the touchdown. Like he’s back at Raymond James Stadium playing for the Bucs, he kisses the football and runs in a semicircle, playing to a crowd of teenage boys who worship the ground he walks on.

Then he turns my way, football cradled to his chest, and mimics my earlier threat with his free hand:I see you.

“Game on,” he mouths for me only.

I love you.

I mouth the three little words to his back, once he’s jogging up the field and bumping fists with his teenage teammates.

Not wanting to be outdone, I call for a timeout where I explain the plan. “Like we practiced, guys. Break through the fold and get to the QB. We’re gonna take him down.”

Matthew lifts a finger. “Can I hit him?”

“It’s flag football, Matt. No, you can’t tackle him.” I clap my hands together. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Like a unit prepared for battle, we all fall in line.

It’s me and Topher, round three.

“I love you,” I tell him, just to see him squirm when his teammates overhear me.

He makes a face, groaning, “Mom.”

Tweet!

“See-ya, son!”

And then I’m off once again. Lo and behold, the boys stick to the plan. Kevin and another boy, Jason, aren’t able to hold the tight formation and I dive right through them. Pivot on my heels to change trajectory and head straight for Dominic, my arms pumping, my lungs heaving like they haven’t in years. Adrenaline fuels me as Dominic arcs his throwing arm back, his gaze locked on someone down the field—I rip off the flag at his hip with such gusto his shorts nearly come down in the process.

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