Page 32 of The Brotherly Shove

"Yeah, we can talk about that at breakfast," I say, finding my discarded pants and pulling them up over my bare ass. "You're not staying in this hotel ever again."

We drop off Lennon's truck in the secure parking garage at my apartment building and run upstairs so that I could change out of my party clothes and into a simple pair of jeans and an old Penwood U tee. After, Len and I walk half a block from my place to this literal hole in the wall restaurant that serves the most incredible omelets I've ever had in my life. We're both donning baseball caps, though his is flipped backwards while mine is on straight.

"You might regret that," I say, flicking the brim of his hat as I hold the door to the restaurant open for him.

"Why?" I ask as he struts towards the host stand. He tells the person standing there that we'd like a table for two, and they start to fiddle with menus and the iPad propped up on their podium.

"You don't go out in the city much, do you?" I ask, just as a little girl sitting on a bench by the window with who I assume is her grown-up shrieks. We glance over, and sure enough, both the girl—who looks like she can't be much older than six—and her dad are both gaping in our direction, dressed in matching 'Property of the San Francisco Redwoods' t shirts. Since that day on the train in Philadelphia, I've been noticed in public a handful of times, so I'm used to it at this point.

Okay, so it's been more than a handful. It's been so many times that I've lost count, but I don't make it a habit of talking about it. The last thing I want to do is come off like a braggy asshole.. I don't know how often Lennon gets recognized, though. I would have assumed just as often if not more, but he seems genuinely surprised when the little girl runs up to him and tugs on his pant leg.

"You play football for the Redwoods!" she exclaims, her eyes wide and mouth gaping.

Surprised or not, Lennon smiles and squats down, getting as close as he can to the kid's height.

"I do! My name is Lennon Griffith. What's yours?" he asks.

"Mirabelle, and this is my dad!" the kid says as the man approaches behind her.

"Sorry about that, I told her we shouldn't interrupt you but," he gestures towards his daughter with a defeated shrug. I shake my head, indicating to the man that it's no problem as Lennon keeps his focus on the kidlet at our feet.

"Mirabelle, that's such a cool name. Are you a Redwoods fan?"

"Yes!" Mirabelle answers excitedly.

"That's awesome! Who is your favorite player?" Lennon asks, and Mirabelle jumps in place.

"YOU! You're my favorite! You knock those sons of bitches down every Sunday!" the kid shrieks, and neither Lennon or myself can hold back our chuckles as the dad places his hands on her shoulders.

"Kids, where do they get this stuff?" he laughs nervously, turning beet red.

We chat with Mirabelle and her dad for another moment, taking pictures with them and signing the backs of each of their t shirts. I've gotten into the habit of carrying a Sharpie around in my pocket for moments like this, even if it makes me feel like a bit of a douche. We say our goodbyes and then the waiting host leads us to a corner booth in the back of the restaurant, away from the crowds but still in line of sight of the row of TV's currently playing the Detroit vs. Denver game.

"I don't think that will ever get old," Lennon mumbles as he opens his menu.

"I know what you mean. Jeez, if only we could go back a few years ago where we are now. I think college Breaker and Lennon would be shocked," I shake my head as I push my own menu to the corner. I already know I'll be ordering a three egg chopped omelette with turkey bacon, avocado, chopped green peppers and extra jack cheese with rye toast and two sides of hash browns.

"No way twenty year old Lennon would be shocked. I always believed that we'd end up exactly where we are right now," he says with confidence as the server approaches, filling our mugs with coffee from the pot she's carrying and taking our orders without writing anything down. Anywhere else that particularmove might make me nervous, but I'm in a diner and my server looks like she's been working here since before I was born. I have no doubt in my mind that all of our food will come out exactly how we ordered it and delicious.

"You mean you always believed we'd end up playing in the NFL together? Or on the same team?" I ask after the server leaves. I start stirring creamer into my coffee while I wait for Lennon to answer.

"The football stuff. All of it. I knew we'd both make it to the big leagues. I had a strong feeling we'd end up paired up on the same team again, someday. I don't know how, but I always felt it. When I saw you were drafted to SF just a week after I'd been traded? It was like I had deja vu or something. As for the rest of it…" he trails off and I look up at him. His hand moves under the table to my thigh, where he grips me, soft but possessive. "All the rest of it, I just really really hoped it would someday work out."

I feel my heart pounding in my chest as Lennon's gaze dips to my lips, his icy blue eyes glazed over with something predatory. I lick my lips, wetting them even as my mouth goes dry. It isn't until Lennon leans in, the subtlest movement towards me, that I come to my senses and remember where we are andwhowe are.

"Len," I say tightly, and he stops in his tracks. "We should probably talk about some things before…" I say with a lowkey gesture between us.

"Right," he clears his throat, taking his hand away from my leg. I grab it back under the table and place it back where it just was on my thigh.

"You can keep that right where it was, honey," I smirk at him, and when he hits me with his bright, warm, thousand watt Lennon smile, I swear I fall even further in love with him, right there in the dingy booth of the dingy diner.

CHAPTER 20

LENNON

Now

San Francisco, California

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