Page 86 of Home Game

I shift so my chin is in his chest and I’m looking up into his eyes. I squint so one of mine is smaller than the other.

“Was it? Sweet, I mean?”

He nods, then drops his mouth down to mine for a chaste kiss.

“I guess I’ll need to get used to seeing that stuff,” I continue, my mouth brushing against his as I talk with our mouths close.

“Oh, yeah?” he utters against me.

“Mmm hmm,” I say, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling back enough to gaze at him again. “Since I’ll be on your sideline next year. And the year after. And?—”

“What? For real?” His hands move to my face, palms on my cheeks as he looks at me with wide eyes.

I giggle and nod.

“I maybe decided to go to Arizona. But it’s not for you. It’s for me,” I say, as he’s already swinging me in circles and holding me to his chest.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care. You’re going? To U of A?”

I nod and laugh.

“Damn, if only we had won, this would be the best day of my life!” He sets my feet back on the ground and kisses me so hard that our lips smack when we part.

“But it’s for me. Because I want to be there,” I reiterate, not wanting to add layers of pressure on what I already know is hard. Taking a relationship from high school to college comes with challenges. I never want either of us giving up parts of ourselves just to fit the other. I think it’s why we work so well. We are strong on our own. And because of that, we can be strong for each other.

“So, not even a tiny bit?” He holds up pinched fingers and squints. I push his thumb and index finger closer together.

“Maybe that much for you,” I joke.

He widens the gap and I quickly shrink it again.

“I mean, of course I love you and all, though,” I let slip out, and my heart stops as I realize those words were out loud.

My wide eyes are glued to the pinched fingers Wyatt is still holding up in front of my face, and I blink, wondering if I broke him with that confession. He’s not moving. A quick glance at his chest doesn’t seem to show any signs of breath. I pull his finger and thumb apart more, then look up at him, his eyes on mine,waiting. The grin on his face stretches from ear to ear, and my pulse rockets in my body.

“You love me that much?” he asks.

I glance at his finger and thumb again, then back to his face.

“Eh, that might not be to scale,” I tease, my voice wavering with nerves.

He moves his hands back to my face and rests his forehead against mine, the tips of our noses touching as his lashes kiss the ends of mine.

“I love you more, Peyton Johnson. So much fucking more.” His mouth crashes over mine before I can take a breath, and his kiss nearly leaves me faint.

When the bus honks, we both jump and look up, spotting a laughing Whiskey in the driver’s seat. It takes about fifteen seconds for the actual driver to climb on board and shoo him away.

But it’s obvious that other than the coaching staff, Wyatt is the only one not on board.

“So, I can expect you in an hour for ice cream?” I remind him as our hands slip apart. He takes the first step.

“Forty-five minutes, tops,” he says, his grin still etched on his face.

The Vista coaches have made it to the parking lot and are headed toward me, so I let Wyatt climb the rest of the way up the steps and walk along the side of his bus, ignoring the smooching sounds Whiskey and a few of his other teammates make through open windows. He takes a seat near the back and pushes his window open, resting his arms on the edge so he can peer down at me.

“Hey, so do I get to call you Bub now?” I ask, harkening back to when we met that older man Terry in the hot tub.

Wyatt’s gaze lingers on me for several seconds, a knowing smirk playing at his lips when he finally utters, “Depends.”

---