Page 12 of The Americana Playbook

“It’s personal,” I finish.

Without a blink, my eyes abandon Parker’s face only because they’re drawn by something else—the number five on the Rebels jersey she wears.

Myjersey.

I think of all the times in high school I imagined spotting Parker in the bleachers waving to me, smiling as she pointed to her cheek with my number painted on it like all the other guys’ girlfriends did. That never happened. Not once. When it came to Parker, my dreams were always out of reach.

I need something here to tell me this isn’t a dream. I need to know the woman inching toward me, the woman with the warm brown eyes, is really an extension of the girl I grew up with—the first girl I fell in love with.

Maybe the only one I ever actually loved.

When she opens her mouth to speak, my breath gets trapped in the back of my throat.

“Hey, Fitzy.”

I’ve always hated when people called me that.

Except…

“Parker.” A mix of disbelief and relief accompanies her name.

She takes a small step and launches herself at me. As a quarterback, I don’t catch all too many passes. But now, I’m the world’s strongest receiver. It would take all the linemen in the League to make me let go ofher.

“Oh, my god….Hi.”

Parker sounds the same, even though she feels different. But we’re both different. How we hold each other, how I lift her feet off the ground, is something Fitz of the past never would’ve done. But Fitz now? If Parker let me, I’d never let her touch the ground again.

I’m struggling to think about anything other than how her smooth cheek feels squeezed against my scruff. “It’s really you, right?”

“It would be pretty awkward if it wasn’t.” She loosens her hold so she can lean back. “Don’t you think?”

Awkwardisn’t exactly how I’d describe this moment.Perfectseems a lot more fitting.

“Everything alright?”

Five. Parker waits five seconds before breaking free from my hold and sliding back to the ground. Those five seconds are better than the last five hours after winning the Super Bowl.

“It’s okay, Jax,” she tells the security guard. “We’re together.”

We’re together.

I hope she doesn’t realize I sway.

“You sure, Clara?” he asks.

Clara?

I revisit the idea that someone did indeed slip something into my drink.

“It’s fine. Come on, Fitz.” Parker steps around me. Her arm brushes against mine. Instant fucking goosebumps.

Maybe I should ask where we’re going before I start following. But I’m too dumbstruck, too confused by the ghost I’m trailing down a dark hallway illuminated by only the red of the Exit sign above a door at the end of it. But it gives me just enough light to show me how the ends of her dark hair tied into a ponytail sway over the tops of the letters spellingmyname.

God, I never want to forget the sight.

And I never,everwant to forget the moment when Parker stops and turns around, beckoning me with wiggling fingers. Out comes the smile, and I know I’m still a goner for her.

Atlanta’s mild winter air hits me, but it does little to cool my body off. If Parker notices my hand burns in hers, she doesn’t say anything because she drops it, moving to a folding chair with an ashtray sitting on it. She removes the ashtray and climbs up. Immediately, I rush behind her, just in case.

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