Page 50 of Tight End

“Yes, they have jerseys.” Kinsley flies past us to a wall plastered with them. “I’ve been dying to get a Bronson one.”

I huff a laugh, following her over, noting the rather large percentage of women shopping for gear. I also see and promptly ignore anything and everything that says Devlin across the back. “I didn’t realize after one game you were such a big fan. Is this going to become an obsession of yours?”

“Unlike you, I know how to google, and Mama likes what she found, which incidentally includes several shirtless pictures. He’s currently single, loves dogs, and if he can give me an orgasm like the vibrator I named after him, he’s perfect.”

“How do you know he loves dogs?” Poppy gives her a pointed look, sifting through a pile of sweatshirts.

Kinsley sighs, grabbing a Bronson uniform shirt and hugging it to her chest. I’m almost surprised she didn’t smellit, but I bet if we weren’t here—oh, never mind, she did it. “He volunteered at a local animal shelter. They had a picture of him surrounded by puppies. That man sure knows how to look good next to a golden retriever.”

“Everyone likes puppies, Kins. Even serial killers.”

Kinsley draws in an exaggerated breath, looking my way, and I shrug. If she thinks I’m going to help her after she picked out the thrusting vibrator, she’s mistaken. She’s on her own.

“So what does Mom think of all this? Obviously Dad’s on board. I don’t think I’ve seen him this excited in ages.” Poppy rolls her eyes, but she’s not wrong. He’s fully decked out in Aces gear and is currently in our seats, chowing down on junk food with Oliver. I’m pretty sure he has one of those giant foam fingers shoved under his seat, but I’m afraid to look.

“Mom is ... I’m not sure. She’s tolerating the situation.” And by tolerating, I mean spending the week making passive-aggressive comments about football players. None of us can pretend to be surprised. “The BBQ at her place is sure to be interesting.”

Poppy snorts, pulling a Westgate jersey from the wall and looking at me expectantly. “Are you not getting one?”

“You have to.” Kinsley’s eyes widen. “What will football daddy think? He’ll be most disappointed.”

What would Ryan think?

Hell if I know.

We’ve been avoiding each other since Monday. You know, the day I climbed him like he was a playground toy, almost kissed him, and left my new sex toys for him to find on his living room floor. To be fair, we’ve both had a busy week. He learned how to pick Oliver up from day care and ended up taking him to the park before hitting up a pizza place. I had towork late on Tuesday. And yesterday ... well, we had plenty of time to talk, but as soon as we put Oliver to bed, he got a phone call and disappeared into his room.

It seems we both might be experts at avoidance, which is just fine with me. It’s only helping me purge him from my mind and mentally prepare for my date tomorrow night.

Michael has been messaging me all day, making sure I know how much he’s looking forward to our dinner, and I’ve been ... well, responding. I’m trying, okay. I don’t expect Ryan to leave my thoughts after a few days, but by the weekend, he’ll be gone. No more dirty thoughts. No more near kisses. No more belly butterflies.

I’ll have moved on and, who knows, maybe Michael and I will have an excellent time. He’s nice enough.

All I have left to do is ask Ryan if he’d be okay hanging out with Oliver for a few hours tomorrow night. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Relieved even. Unless he has plans with his girlfriend, but I’ve got Poppy on standby if that’s the case.

So, yeah, I’ll get a jersey, but it’s not going to be his. I don’t need to be giving anyone the wrong idea, least of all myself. Which is why I snag one that says Brooks on the back and hold it up for Kinsley, waving it in front of her face.

“There. I got one. Are you happy?”

“Ecstatic. Now, are we going to watch a football game or what?”

TWENTY-TWO

Ryan

I’m on cloud nine.In fact, I’ve been here since my ass landed in the end zone, scoring the game-winning touchdown. I’m on fire tonight, unstoppable.

The difference between Sunday’s game and today? I have my two lucky charms sitting somewhere in the stands. Doesn’t matter if they’re cheering for me every time I take the field or simply enjoying the burgers and gigantic bags of kettle corn. They’re here, and that’s what counts.

It doesn’t hurt that my little man is wearing my jersey, with my last name across his back. He told me I was like a superhero in my uniform, and there was no way I was letting him down.

I almost got one for June, too, but we’ve been treading lightly this week, and I didn’t want to be the one to overstep. But damn. The thought of her with my number and last name stamped across her back is like a wet dream. I’d give anything to see her in my jersey, and only my jersey, down on her knees, begging for my cock. Which is exactly why I didn’t get her a thing. It’s entirely unsafe. My quest to tamp out thesefeelings I have around her has been unsuccessful. Especially after I almost kissed her on Monday and ruined everything.

Well, everything my untimely erection didn’t already ruin.

The damn guys have been riding me nonstop about it, and some dick on the internet spotted it sometime on Tuesday, and now it seems that thousands of people are on bulge watch. This is why I don’t do social media. I don’t care that Nick loves it, I don’t need strangers trying to guess the length and girth of my penis.

My leg feels fucking amazing, though, and it did get Hot 4 Yoga a ton of new followers. Yes, I’m one of them, and because I can’t help myself, I creep on her page every night before I go to bed.

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