Page 56 of Playing for Keeps
Wyatt
The stadium’s a little outside the city, and on the way there, we stop at a small diner the team usually hits after practice. We split burgers and fries, and we each have a slice of key lime pie, arare treat for me, but it’s the off-season, so I let myself enjoy the occasional dessert.
An hour later, I pull into the stadium lot. I could take Ivy through the players’ entrance, but I want her to see it the way the fans do. Game day is a whole different experience, of course, but there’s still something special about walking in through the front, taking it all in like everyone else. At least, I’ve always thought so. I just hope she feels the same.
“Wow! It’s so much bigger than I imagined,” she says, her voice full of awe.
I smile. “It seats just over sixty-three thousand.”
Her eyes widen as she turns toward me. “And that doesn’t totally freak you out? Playing in front of that many people?”
I laugh. “Not anymore. You get used to it. I mean, sure, I still get nervous before a game, but it’s the good kind, you know?”
She nods thoughtfully. “I get that. I’m the same way before an open house.” She lets out a soft laugh, and the sound hits me right in the chest. “Not that it’s anything close to the same, obviously.”
“We’re both doing what we love, right?” I say, and she nods in agreement. “Shall we head in?”
“Yes! I can’t wait to see everything,” she says, practically buzzing with excitement.
I smile, unable to hide how much I love seeing her like this, lit up, and completely caught up in the moment.
“Hang tight. I’ll come around,” I say, sliding out of the truck and circling the front. I open her door and offer my hand. She slips her fingers into mine, and I help her down.
“Thanks,” she says, her eyes meeting mine as I close the door behind her. My gaze drops for a beat to the diamond resting at her throat, and an ache stirs in my chest. I want to reach out, just to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin. But I don’t. Instead, I pull back, letting her hand slip from mine with a quiet sigh.
“It’s this way,” I say, walking ahead, mostly to keep from doing something reckless, like pulling her into my arms and kissing her senseless.
“Is the stadium open to the public in the off-season?” she asks, falling into step beside me.
I nod. “Yeah. They host corporate events, offer tours, that kind of thing. The team store’s always open too.”
“Oh, good!” she says, lighting up. “I want to get a Wyatt Brookes jersey. A little birthday gift to myself. Actually,” she adds with a tilt of her head, “I don’t even know what number you wear. That makes me a terrible friend, doesn’t it?”
I stop in my tracks. She wants one of my jerseys?
My head spins as an image of her wearing just that and nothing else slams into me. I swallow hard, trying to get a grip. A moment later, she realizes I’ve fallen behind and turns to look at me.
“Hey, why’d you stop?” she asks. “You’re mad I don’t know your number, aren’t you?”
I hear the uncertainty in her voice and can’t help but laugh. “I’d be more shocked if youdidknow it. You know next to nothing about football. I’m just… surprised you want a jersey, that’s all.”
She gives a casual shrug. “Ash says they’re comfy to sleep in.”
My head spins again.Sleep in. Jesus.
“I’ve got a bunch of extras at home,” I say. “You can have one.”
Her eyes spark with curiosity. “With your number on it?”
I nod, trying not to let my grin give me away. “Yep. Number eleven.”
Her eyes widen. “No way!”
“What?”
“Number eleven’s my lucky number.”
“You’re serious?”
