Page 40 of Red Zone Realizations
“That metaphor got way out of hand.” I laugh.
He cringes, and rightfully so. “It did. I apologize for referring to you as something tasty to be consumed.”
I clap him on the back as we walk up to the field and join the other men. “Apology accepted.” We’ve got fifteen minutes until the game starts. Since it’s preseason I did my meditation routine in the locker room, so now I’ve just got my finishing sideline stretches. “I’ll catch up with you later, I’ve got to finish getting stretched out.”
I claim a spot on the field. It may or may not be the perfect spot to catch Audrey in my line of sight. She’s here, walking up the bleachers. There are tons of fans, but also spouses, families, and the press. I watch her ass sway up the steps and an idea comes to me. Why does the fun need to stop after our little meeting? She’s seen yoga Noah, date night Noah, and model Noah. She hasn’t truly seen football Noah.
Today, I’m going to give her a show.
Was I stretched by the trainers before even coming out here? Yes.
Would I ever miss a moment to put that sultry blush on her cheeks? No.
There are so many other people on the field, no one pays any attention to me as I approach the sideline, equipment in hand. Time to go to work.
Chapter Eighteen
AUDREY
I’ve just settled in my seat on the bleachers and put my water and iced caramel macchiato on the seat next to me when a perky blonde saunters up. “Is this seat available?” she asks, pointing next to me.
“Yes, it is. Go right ahead. Lemme get my shit out of the way.”
She sits and heaves her gigantic purse off her shoulder, setting it on the ground in front of her. You would never know she’s here to sit in the hot sun watching a low-key preseason game. She looks like she should be on the newest season ofThe Bachelor. She’s got a perfectly straight smile framed by full, bright pink lips and artfully curled hair. She turns to me and extends her hand. “I’m Chrissy.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Audrey.”
“So, which one is yours.” She swings her gaze toward the field in front of us. The practice game field is way smaller than the stadium, so you can get a good look at all the guys’ faces from here. “A rookie?”
“Technically? None of them. I’m Noah Fox’s social media manager. I’m just here to get a taste of what being a professional athlete is like. You know, so I can make sure I understand his image.”
“Damn, that’s impressive. I’m with Colin, the quarterback. We got married last year.”
“Congratulations!” I say. She tells me they got married at The Meadows in April last year and continues to talk about the ceremony and their honeymoon. I accidentally tune her out. I don’t mean to. I just finally see Noah out on the field, and what I’m witnessing is making me dumb.
I watch him move at his own pace on the sidelines, stretching. It started off innocently enough. A couple hamstring stretches, some arm maneuvers. There’s this one stretch that all serious athletes do where you bend one knee, straighten the other leg, and dip your fingers down in a circular motion. I’ve seen CrossFitters do it. I’m sure it’s his routine, but watching a man made like that stretch is not something I get to witness every day. I swear to God, I could sit here for eons and never look my fill. Since Noah isn’t my boyfriend, I let my eyes drift a little. It’s a football field full of man candy. Like someone had gotten a football-shaped piñata for their birthday, but instead of Jolly Ranchers and bubble gum, it’s filled with professional athletes. Even the coach is hot. He’s much younger than the football coaches of Dad’s age. Gone are the silver-haired old men. In their places are beautiful men with obviously high football IQs.
Almost as if he could feel my gaze leaving him, Noah ups the ante. My eyes follow his every step as he strolls over to the bench and grabs a foam roller. He greets some teammates, grabs a squirt of water, and walks back over to his warm-upspot. He places the roller on the ground and then lies on his stomach in front of it, hits a quick up dog, then rolls to his right side and drags the foam roller underneath his left thigh.
“Oh, God,” I whisper. I thought it was just loud enough for me, but Chrissy definitely heard.
“What?” Her head perks up from her phone. She follows my gaze and her jaw drops. “Oh my God.”
Noah is stomach down on the turf using the foam roller to massage and loosen his quads. Rolling those hips back and forth. His right foot is anchored to the ground, allowing him easy, rhythmic movement. He has a tortured look on his face, like the feeling is just too good.
I’m going to incinerate right here.
I can’t rip my eyes away from him as he rolls off the roller, then over to his left side to repeat the movement. It’s almost like I could feel it… the ghost of his body hovering over me, pushing me into the soft bed below.
“It’s going to be a long fucking day,” I groan.
“Yes, it is,” Chrissy says. “Now spill. I want to know everything.” For a split second I wonder if it’s a bad idea to tell Chrissy everything. Her glossy lips and shiny jewelry don’t scream “quiet confidant,” but I decide if I’m going to be around the game, I might as well make some friends, and the fastest way to make a new friend is hot gossip.
For the rest of the afternoon, I’m tortured. Both by Chrissy’s questions and by Noah’s athleticism. I watch his calf muscles as he sprints to receive passes. I watch his arm veins bulge as he holds another man back on a block.
Then finally, I watch sweat drip down his face as he stands in the huddle and listens to whatever his coach has to say. I’m overwhelmed with a sweet sense of relief when they all clap together and head into the locker room.
But what I thought was the end to my torture actually turned up the heat. As the team was walking off the field, Noah made direct eye contact with me and fucking smirked—a grin that said he knewexactlywhat he was doing every second he was on that damn field.
