Page 24 of The Game Plan

But Miles... that endearing smile, the way he’s gone out of his way to help me with statistics, that bashful look on his face whenever I compliment him...

There’s no doubting his strength. He works hard. And he’s kind. He’s so nice. I just want to curl up and bask in his warmth. He makes me want to smile, like, all the time. He makes me feel good about myself.

Shit. I like Miles Cavanaugh.

I track him through the game. When he’s on the sidelines, his eyes are focused on the field, tracking the plays. When it’s his turn to take the field, he claps his teammates on the shoulder before he takes his place across from guys equally as massive as he is.

“Look, it’s your boyfriend,” Tamar says, pointing out number 73 on the sidelines. Sawyer.

“Greg isn’t my boyfriend,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “He’s just a friend.”

“You had dinner with him yesterday.”

How do they know about that? I waited until after my friends left to change tables. Or is it already on social media?

“Trust me. There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Greg. I didn’t even know who he was until four days ago.”

She hums. “Four days? Isn’t that all it takes?”

I ignore her, cheering when Miles manages to pin the offensive player opposite him. He does a quick spin and is able to tackle the receiver, too. I’m on my feet, clapping and cheering. The rest of the crowd is enthusiastic, sure, but nobody else seems to have noticed the amazing double tackle.

Newton wins, 42 to 14, in no small part due to Miles’s excellent game play.

Tamar nudges me. “You going to visit the player tunnel again?”

How does she know about that?

I hadn’t even thought about visiting him. Immediately an itch burns deep inside of me. I want to see him. No, Ineedto see him. Right now. Right this very minute.

“You want to come with me?” I ask, an olive branch.

“Sure.”

There are clusters of friends and family waiting outside of the player tunnels. Tamar and I huddle together in the brisk chilly wind.

Ahead of us are a group of people decked out in gear for number 14. Miles’s family. I recognize the mom and dad from last week. There are two girls with them now, both wearing Miles’s number. One girl is tall, nearly six feet, and even her bulky coat can’t hide her lithe, athletic form. The other girl is younger, shorter, with a more curvy shape and her long blonde hair expertly curled. I’m instantly jealous of her hair. It would take me two hours to do that, and my hair still wouldn’t look half as good.

Greg and Wes lumber out of the tunnel, both of them holding a protein shake.

“Hey, boo,” Greg says when he gets close enough to be heard without shouting. “What are you doing here?”

“Had to come out and support my favorite guys,” I say, injecting some enthusiasm into my voice. “Good game.”

Wes salutes me with his protein shake.

“You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without a book.”

His mouth turns down into a sour frown.

“Don’t worry, he’ll pick one up as soon as we get home,” Greg says, clapping him on the back. Wes scowls at him.

“Miles!” the girl with curly blonde hair squeals, jumping up and down.

Craning my neck, I just barely spot him before the girl throws herself at him in a flying tackle hug. He catches her easily, wrapping his arms around her.

“Hey,” he says, his voice deep and rumbly.

Greg snorts. “I’ll leave you to it.”

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