Page 72 of Just Playin'
“AM?” I ask, hopeful.
Guilt taints her eyes before she shakes her head. “PM. But that’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just cancel.”
I impede her haste to pack our now empty picnic basket by snatching an empty pizza box from her grasp and Frisbeeing it across the field. “You’re not cancelling. You’ve worked too hard for this, and I’d never ask you to give up a part of who you are for me. I might be arrogant at times, but I’m not a complete fucking asshole.”
She swipes her hand across her cheeks to ensure none of her tears have fallen. When she’s confident her face is dry, she locks her moisture-filled eyes with mine. “Then what’s your solution? I don’t want to miss watching you play.”
“Says a lady who hates football with every fiber of her being.”
My gibe has the effect I was aiming for. It brings our exchange back onto playful territory by easing some of the tension strangling it.
“I don’t hate football.” She catches her eyeroll halfway before her eyes twitch back to their original position. “I just don’t understand it.”
“I wouldn’t say that too loud. If Coach James hears you’re seeking knowledge, he’ll include you in every team strategy meeting for the remainder of your internship.”
A chuckle breaks through my lips when she glances over her shoulder with wide, panicked eyes. Only once she’s confident we’re alone does she return her devotion to me. “Sheesh, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
I ease her erratically beating chest by lying down on the blanket, taking her with me. With the sky free of clouds, a million stars twinkle above our heads. Our star-gazing pushes us into our first bout of silence for the night. It’s not awkward. It’s more necessary than anything. It also strengthens what I thought last week. This whole abstinence thing has as many good points as it does bad. Although, I may not have been saying that if our weekend didn’t end the way it did.
Willow breaks the silence first. “I really wish I could watch you play.” She rolls over to balance her chin on my chest. “I may not understand anything happening, but I still like supporting you.”
“Just as I do you, but it’s rare to get everything you want.”I’m still learning that the hard way.
I grow worried I said my last comment out loud when Willow’s head pops off my chest. Her brows furrow as she scans our location. The worry darkening her light eyes makes me follow the direction of her gaze. We’re alone, for the most part. The stadium is rarely empty. Excluding the players and management staff, over half a dozen janitors work during closing hours to keep its world-class facilities looking new even though they’re nearly as old as me.
I prop myself on my elbows when Willow suddenly leaps to her feet. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
She races three steps away from me before spinning around and coming straight back. “Sorry, I forgot.” With her hands slapped on my cheeks and a grin a mile wide, she lowers her mouth to mine. Her kiss is innocent, but the excitement blistering out of her. . .dyna-fucking-mite. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”
She charges across the field like Foster outrunning a defensive linebacker before she is swallowed by the darkness of the stadium bleachers.
I’m still staring in shock at the direction she bolted when she reemerges approximately ten minutes later. She’s still wearing her knockout dress, but her jacket and shoes have been removed, and she’s carrying a football.
What the fuck?
“What are you up to?”
She presses her finger to her lips before dumping the football onto the blanket next to me. After taking four steps back, she raises her arm into the air. My heart beats at an unnatural rhythm when the stadium lights switch on two seconds later. The brightness is closely followed by the soulful voice of Ed Sheeran. I can’t remember the name of his song, but he performs it with Beyoncé.
Equally excited and filled with anticipation, I scoot to the very edge of the blanket. The hope blazing through my veins is answered in the most brilliant light when Willow starts dancing to the song blaring out of the stadium speakers. She floats through the air, her movements similar to the ones she made the first time she danced for me, but more refined and graceful. Her variety makes her performance so riveting, I can’t take my eyes off her. I just stare in awe, smug as fuck about my private show.
With her wish to keep her routine under wraps from her competitors, she hasn’t shared any aspects of it with anyone—not even me. She wouldn’t even say what style of dance she was performing. I’m going to call her dance the “Willow Effect” because I’ve never seen this style of dance before. She has the elegance of a ballerina but with an edge of fierceness that can’t conceal the years she’s spent teaching hip hop to rowdy children.
She’s in her element, and I’m loving every fucking minute of it.
As the song fades, I stand to my feet, clapping and hollering like a loon. I’m not lying when I say my grin is brighter than the stadium lights. “That was fucking awesome! My god, Willow, I’m so hard right now. That was hot, sensual, and way better than any of the shitty shows Lillian dragged me to in New York.”
I didn’t mean to bring up my ex while flattering my current squeeze; it just slipped out during my excitement. Mercifully, Willow doesn’t seem to mind. “Was it okay? I’m trying something different by merging traditional with new age. I think it gives it more depth.”
“It was perfect. You’re going to kill it.”
Smiling, she snags an untouched bottle of water from the picnic basket. She’s panting so hard, her expanding chest catches the little droplets of sweat rolling down her cheeks. “Damn, I didn’t realize how hot those lights are.” She takes a generous sip of water before screwing on the lid and dumping it next to her bare feet. “Alright.” She claps her hands together like Coach James does at the beginning of every quarter. “Your turn.”
My confusion grows when she bobs down to snag the football off the blanket. Stepping back, she flashes me a grin that has my cock getting friendly with my zipper before tossing the football into my chest. “You saw mine; now show me yours.”
She tucks the hem of her dress into her panties before huddling down low like she’s primed to tackle me. I realize I have the situation all wrong when she shouts, “Roger 73, Green 98, Red 62!”
I laugh at her attempt to impersonate the plays I use on field before shouting. “Hut-hut!”
