Page 63 of Their Greatest Strength

“Can I try something else?”

My stomach explodes. “Like what?”

“Just tell me to stop at any time,” he murmurs.

His fingertips slip behind my skull, kneading my scalp as he guides my head back further. Heart racing, I give in to my desire to touch him more and reach desperately for his hip, as if that will help stabilize me.

Instead, it only intensifies our connection and has me pressing further into his body. He’s just so warm and steady. I don’t jerk back when he lowers his head and brings his mouth so, so close to my nose.

My nails slip beneath his shirt to scrape at the bare skin above the band of his jeans, and I swear I hear a low groan slip up his throat. It’s gone before I can be sure.

I’m prepared for him to kiss me. It would be the next step, especially if we’re supposed to put on an act for the world tomorrow, right? I can kiss him like this and do it again tomorrow, just as practice. It’s simple. Meaningless. Exactly the way I like it.

But no. His lips don’t touch mine.

They brush my cheek instead, far enough away from my mouth that when I sigh, I know he doesn’t feel the hot puff of my breath.

He’s in front of me and then gone in the span of a blink. The pink tint of his cheeks slowly fades as he smiles, a dimple popping.

“Was that okay?”

I drop my hands instantly and stumble backward, putting distance between us. I’m so hot, so tense, it’s like I’ve just been dipped in hot wax and yanked back out.

“It was fine. If you’re wondering if you can do it tomorrow, then yes,” I answer him, trying to keep my tone as distant as possible.

I don’t think he believes me, but he lets it go. The closet is crowded, even without Nate in here with us, and I need to get out.

“Come on. I already have a jersey for you,” he says, recognizing my habit of retreating.

“The ones in the bin don’t work?”

“No. My wife isn’t going to be wearing an old jersey with grass stains.”

“I thought you washed them.”

His laugh is a welcome sound. Almost like a reset button.

“I have. But some stains don’t come out no matter how much time we spend scrubbing them.”

Our eyes catch and hold, the real meaning behind his statement in the open for me to catch. I nod and follow him out of the closet.

I’ve watched football before.Obviously. Nathan’s been playing since he was six years old, and I’ve been in attendance of at least half of his games.

I know what a touchdown is and that there are three downs. Although, that’s only in the CFL as Nathan so dutifully told me on the way to the stadium.

He tried to give me a bucketload of pointers in the cab, and I’m proud to say that I remember at least ten percent of them. Jamie absolutely put him up to the quick tutor session, and I’m a bit spiteful of that. He should have sat me down and taught me himself. Win or lose tonight, he isn’t getting off without being bugged about it.

A cool breeze rips through the field, and I tug at the sleeves of my shirt to cover my hands. The game hasn’t started yet, and I’m already freezing. It’s not like it’s in the negatives yet, but with only a long-sleeve shirt on beneath the thin jersey Jamie gave me, I’m a bit underdressed. Nathan was smart enough to put a hoodie on beneath his jersey, at least.

The chill I’m feeling could be from more than the temperature, though.

Jamie’s coach is already out, along with at least a dozen unfamiliar faces, all of whom haven’t hidden their curiosity about my brother’s and my presence. My skin has been itching for the lasthalf hour that we’ve been here, standing well enough behind the team’s staff to avoid getting in the way.

Nathan’s having the time of his life, not sharing my anxiousness. He’s been smiling and waving at the members of the team huddling around and shouting directions.

We didn’t arrive early enough to catch warm-ups, and I know that disappointed him a bit. However, he has spent quite a few minutes gawking at the cheerleaders across the field. One even gave him a wiggling finger wave after a short cheer, and he got so nervous he blushed.

Restrained chaos is the best way to describe what it’s like on the sidelines. Every minute that ticks toward the players coming out, the stands become fuller, the hum of conversation growing in volume. The coaching staff for both teams seem to become antsier, and the people running along the sidelines with cameras keep swaying our way, like they’re debating coming over and asking who the hell we are.

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