Page 92 of Catching Our Moment
His hands roamed up and down my back, then he turned as if to throw me on the bed.
Then his phone rang.
“Goddamn it,” he said. “That’s probably Davy. We are going over together.”
He pushed himself up off me, and the entire time, his eyes blazed with lust. We both lowered our gaze to his groin and made unsatisfied noises.
I stood and helped him zip up his bag while he grabbed his jacket and shoes. “Damn, you look good,” I said.
The smile he shot me while walking out the door was arrogant and sinful. “Hey, I left some gear for tomorrow, in case you forgot to pack anything.” He snuck in one last kiss. “I’ll call you tonight. And Kelce?—”
“Yes?”
“I won’t be very happy if I find out about any ‘self-entertaining.’”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”
36
Kelcie
It was game time and my first time attending as a girlfriend. I won’t lie; I felt a little like the high school girl dating the football superstar. Except, the stadium sat 70,000 people, and it was a major network.
“I gotcha, girl,” Shyla had said when I called her after Shaw left that night. I needed to talk to someone. I was beyond nervous about meeting the other wives and girlfriends. “They aren’t that bad. Just stick with me. Besides, it’s a freaking suite.”
And that felt like being forced to sit at the cool girl’s table. No pressure.
“Um, what do I even wear?” I asked her.
“Carolina gear, but cute,” she said.
“I have no idea what that means.”
“That means wear a Carolina sweatshirt or jersey but not one your grandfather would wear. What do you have with you?”
“A jersey Shaw gave me a few months ago,” I said.
“Is it a woman’s cut, or does it go over shoulder pads?” she asked.
“Um, I have no idea. It’s big enough to wear over my jacket,” I said.
There was a pause. “You know what…are you at Shaw’s?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be right over. I’m at Davy’s, and I keep most of my Carolina gear there. I have some things we can use to put an outfit together for you.”
“But I just wanted to know if I needed to do my hair and wear make-up.”
Another pause. “Oh, boy,” she sighed. “Yes, hon. You need to be “sport-glam”—cute, sporty, with a touch of glamorous that sets you apart. You are the girlfriend of one of the best-looking tight ends in the country. If you’re going to be on his arm, sitting in his seat, you need to look the part. I’ll grab a few things and be over.” And then, as if to herself, she said, “Now, where did I put that Bedazzler…” before she hung up.
Bedazzler? What the hell had I gotten myself into?
True to her word, Shyla decked me out in a cute Carolina outfit, insisted I wear my hair down, curling it in effortless waves, and applied makeup in a way that I could only dream of reproducing. She deconstructed the blue jersey Shaw had given me and reformed it to be more slim fitting, cutting a low neckline into it. I wore it over a long-sleeved, slimming body suit. She paired it with jet-black skinny jeans because she said my ass looked amazing in them, making sure Shaw’s jersey was cut off short enough to showcase it. She kindly suppressed an amused smile when I put away my gym shoes and grabbed the heeled boots Aliya insisted I bring. She had me go to his closet and find a Carolina jacket because the whole team had merch like that. I pulled out one that was twice my size but had his number on the sleeve and his name across the back. With a few more touches on the hair, it was fluffed and sprayed. I stared at myself in the mirror.
I looked good. Damn good. But would Shaw even recognize me under this? Hell, he rarely saw me with my hair down, let alone all wavy and cascading down my back. Was this who he wanted me to be? The glam girlfriend?
With lipstick and other necessities tucked in a cute purse she gave me to use, Shyla surveyed me, smiled, and said, “Perfect.”
