Page 8 of Only Between Us

“Am I about to get murdered? Because if that logic stands, then I’m also up here with a stranger, without anyone knowing. So… am I about to get murdered?”

I’ve amused her. The corners of her mouth lift just slightly, eyes twinkle as she assesses me. Just a small taste of what’s got to be a real killer of a smile.

That look is a tease.

Addictive.

It’s equivalent to a pat on the head, and now I want the whole goddamn gold medal around my neck.

It’s an urge I haven’t felt in years.

“Statistically…” She blinks up at me slowly from under those long, dark lashes. Little flirt. “About ninety percent of all homicides are perpetrated by men. So, if anyone was likely to be chopped up and served as a meat-loaf treat to the coaches here on game day, it would be me.”

“Pretty sure whoever pulled those stats hadn’t met you. How many poor fuckers have you brought to their knees with that little look of yours?”

Her mouth curves just another millimeter. “Which look?”

I jerk my chin at her. “That one. That ghost of a grin and the twinkle thing you’re doing with your eyes. You want me to wonder if you’re flirting with me. Want me to dial it up, work a little harder to impress you, while you decide if I’m worth your time.”

I know I’m real close to getting a proper smile now, because her teeth sink into that plush bottom lip. “Is it working? The look?”

“You want it to?”

She tips her head. “Undecided.”

I release a tortured breath, because, yeah—the look works. “For fuck’s sake, put me out of my misery and tell me your name.”

“It’s Siena.”

“Siena.” I take my time letting it roll off my tongue, tasting it, weighing it. It suits her, as far as names can suit a person. “After the color or the city?”

“They spelled it like the city but probably meant the color.” She shrugs. “I couldn’t know for sure.”

I’m still holding her phone, and her eyes lock with mine as it passes from my hand to hers. Her gaze flickers to my mouth, back up again.

“Brooks. My name, in case you’re curious. It’s Brooks.”

She hums, inching back to get a proper look at me. Assessing whether the name matches the guy, maybe.

And then I see it. That spark of recognition. Siena looks from me to the football field behind her. Back to me.

“Brooks… Attwood.”

I lift and drop a shoulder. “Brooks.”

Her eyes go wide. “You’re Brooks Attwood.”

“Brooks.” I nod. “It’s nice to meet you, Siena.”

“But—but you’reBrooks Attwood. My dad grew up a Rebels fan. And his dad before him. And me, since I was thirteen. I knew you looked familiar—you know when you don’t expect to run into someone, so it takes a while to click?”

“Your dad and grandpa are Rebels fans, and you didn’t hop on the wagon until you were thirteen?”

“He didn’t become my dad until I was thirteen. God, this is… Today of all days.” She looks around in utter awe. “I wish he could see this. Brooks Attwood. Your comeback is all over the news.”

“Comeback attempt. The rest remains to be seen.”

She waves away my words, like there’s no doubt in her mind this comeback is happening. “Hey, listen, will you take a picture with me? My mom will get such a kick out of this. Please?”

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