Page 28 of Only Between Us

“JustBrooks, Pippen. We’re supposed to be dating.” He leans in, licking the corner of his mouth as he tries to hold back a laugh. “Fuck, you’re so bad at this. It’s awesome.”

“I’m not bad at it. I can do this.” I’m saying it mostly to myself. A self-wake-up call, because I refuse to be the lame duck in this operation.

Brooks’s smirk turns into a bright smile as the next fan approaches. “Prove it, Pip.”

Chapter9Siena

I sit with the other partners and families in the row directly behind the sideline.

The game isn’t being played too hard, considering it’s for charity and half the players invited back are retired and a bit out of shape. But the atmosphere is just as electric as you’d expect it to be with past fan favorites on the field. A team of miniature kid cheerleaders stands on the sideline, egging on the crowd with a series of clumsy dance moves.

My eyes track number eleven on the field, the way they have all game. Brooks looks so good down there, like a damn snack of a man in his padding. And it goes beyond the biteable ass. He lookstechnicallygood down there. I can’t tell the difference between the players currently on an NFL roster and the man coming out of a two-season retirement.

A whistle calls the end of a play on the field, and Brooks tosses the football to a ref. Lola, the woman beside me who I believe is married to one of the cornerbacks, leans over.

“Your man always was great on the play fake. Bane of Jeremy’s existence, whenever they played against each other.”

Brooks, good at faking something? No shit.

“Oh, he is so sweet.”

I follow Lola’s gaze to find Brooks now with his helmet off on sideline. He’s standing with his hands planted on his hips, grinning widely at the junior cheerleaders. They wave their tiny pompoms as they shuffle and shimmy in a dance, whipping their chins from side to side and sending their braids swinging around their heads.

I think that’s all he’s doing, admiring the little squad. Bopping his head in time with their clumsy movements. And then…

Oh, come on.

Six-foot-four, heavily tattooed Brooks Attwood juts out his arms, punches the air, and swishes his hips in time with the girls.

He’sdancing, mirroring the little cheerleaders and laughing to himself. Either he’s forgotten he has an audience of peers and fans who are all looking over, roaring with laughter, or he doesn’t have a single speck of shame over the whole thing.

And why would he?

Even from up here, I hear the girls’ excited laughs over their new dance partner. They start to move with even more enthusiasm, like they’re testing whether Brooks really means business. Apparently he does, because he meets their every shuffle, hop, and kick.

He looks totally ridiculous and… astoundingly attractive.

And it’s doing strange things to me. Odd tinglings in my stomach force an uncool giggle from my mouth.

There’s a resounding round of applause and cheers when the routine comes to an end. I scan the crowd around us. Nearly every woman has their phone out, either pointing at the cheerleaders or typing at their screens. In the seat next to mine, Lola uploads what’s clearly a video of Brooks’s dance moves online.

I’m getting this all twisted up.

Of course he did it for the crowd pleasing. He’s the face of the event, isn’t he? And he needs the Rebels to see him in a fresh light.Massive, tatted football player dancing with junior cheerleaders. It hasviralwritten all over it.

Brooks moves along the line of tiny cheerleaders, high-fiving them all before finding me staring in the stands. He winks.

Winks.

I roll my eyes, mouthing, “Show-off.”

His lips lift in a cocky smile, and he jerks a thumb at the end zone. “Watch this.”

Another whistle goes off and he heads for the line of scrimmage. I don’t know what there is for me to watch; they’re all the way at the twenty-yard line, nearly at the opposite end of the field after a shitty kickoff return.

The play gets called, ball is snapped, and Brooks tears down the field, keeping an eye on his quarterback as he goes. God, I forgot howfasthe is.

He’s got four defenders on him by the time he catches the pass. The stands fall silent in anticipation, watching Brooks outrun every single one until there’s a clear path to the end zone from the fifty-yard line. When he scores, the stands erupt. With the football in his hand, Brooks points into the stands, right at me, and the cheers get louder.

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