Page 24 of Only Between Us

There’s a long line to enter the stadium at the nearest gate, but I follow Brooks’s instructions and veer off to the players’ entrance at the side of the building. Somehow, it’s even louder here. I follow the floor-shuddering music and deafening cheers to the season-ticket-holder signing event, stopping just short of going inside.

I shoot Brooks a text that I made it, and he appears through the doors almost right away, carrying a brown paper shopping bag.

Both times I’ve met him, he’s been covered in a sheen of well-earned sweat and dressed in a variation of a gym shorts and T-shirt combination that most definitely does him and his absurd physique justice. Today, he’s cleaner and more covered up than I’ve ever seen him, wearing dark-wash jeans, stylishly beat-up sneakers, and a maroon number eleven Huskies jersey.

I can’t decide which version suits him most.

Then Brooks turns around to set the paper bag on a nearby table.

Dear God.

Forget the gym clothes. Those jeans do his football-player ass serious justice.

“Pippen.”

I snap out of my ass-induced trance to find him looking far too pleased with himself. “I think you sat on some gum.”

He snorts, doesn’t buy it for a second. “Did you make it here okay?”

“Really, no witty reply? You’re letting me get away with staring at your ass like that?” I clasp my hands together, sighing dreamily up to the heavens beyond the raftered ceiling. “It happened. I broke him.”

Brooks’s gaze cuts to something behind me. He frowns. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” I wheel around, looking for what he means.

“Andnowwe’re even.”

I glance over my shoulder to find him staring blatantly at my ass. A burst of laughter escapes me before I can stop it.

With a hint of amusement, Brooks jerks his chin at me. “We need to talk about this look.”

“Really? Do I have helmet hair?”

I had to ride my bike here after being officially told that my car engine is beyond repair. The upside is that, without a car to fix, I can set more money aside for the uptick in rent. I’ve already cashed in on a couple of brand deals in the days since Brooks and I made it fake-official. Enough to pay for the new refrigeration system at the shop.

“Helmet hair?” Brooks eyes me, pushing a loose wave off his forehead. “You rode a bike from Baycrest to Oakwood?”

“My car is out of commission. And, to be fair, my apartment building is practically on the edge of town.” I take in my sneakers, strategically ripped white jeans, and top dotted with flowers. “You know what? I stand by this outfit. It’s cute.”

“Not sure I’d use the wordcute.”

Dick.

And then Brooks’s gaze drops in the region of my hips, and the deadpan look flickers before he wrangles it firmly back in place.

Oh. “Uh-oh, Attwood. Did you forget you’re supposed to hate me?” I point to my face. “Gold-digging hussy, remember?”

Brooks gestures between us. “Lovey-dovey fake couple, remember?” He reaches into the shopping bag he brought and produces a maroon jersey with his last name stretched across the back. “Put this on and let’s get this night over with.”

I take it from him, examining it between my hands. “And so, the jersey chaser becomes the jersey receiver. Interesting turn of events.”

Brooks shakes his head, delightfully exasperated. “Just put it on and let’s go.”

I raise my hands in surrender, then slip the jersey over my clothes before moving for the doors.

“Wait.”

Brooks reaches for my throat. For a panicked split second, I think,This is it, my smart mouth is finally getting me killed.

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