Page 96 of Only in Your Dreams

Emily Davies—Emily damn Davies—comes out of nowhere and rips a flag off Mel’s belt, ending the play.

My heart sinks. Brooks winces. A couple of kids sitting around us groan.

Money is exchanged on the sideline, but nobody looks more upset than Mel herself, who forfeits the football with a dejected shake of her head. I wish I could trade places with any one of them down there. Tuck her into a hug. Give her perfect ass a smack and tell her to get it right back on the horse.

“Not pretty,” Brooks sinks in his seat, “looked a lot like that play in the first quarter last game.”

“Don’t remind me,” I say darkly. “It’s been a recurring nightmare since Friday.”

Melody stares at the opposing players allwhoopingtheir victory, and maybe this was a bad idea. It’s been slow, but weeks into her return home, Mel’s been gradually building back some of the confidence stripped away from her over the years. She’s dead tired most days, but I know she enjoys being at the diner. I can see how much more comfortable she is in her own skin now that she’s dressing for herself again, and I’ll never forget that smile on her face when she discovered Baby Clark Kent.

But for a terrifying moment, I think this game might set her back.

“Okay, okay,” one of the coaches shouts from the sideline. “Shake it off, people, it was only the first play.”

Gina Matthews gives Mel an encouraging pat on the back, and I need to remember to give her husband a raise one of these days.

“Twenty bucks says they don’t make it another yard.”

Never mind.

Mel heard him, and my heart cracks wide open when I see her cheeks redden from here. I’m supposed to be in charge around here, should probably stay above this. But I’m on the verge of taking his bet anyway, or at least telling them they’re all fired, when Melody tightens her ponytail. She puts the same look on her face she had back at camp whenever I tried to get a rise out of her. The scowl I’ve become irrationally addicted to.

“I’ll take that bet,” Mel calls to the coaches.

Hell, yeah.

Brooks snorts, lacing his fingers behind his head, now entertained as hell. My tenacious, scowling girl shrugs when the coaches fall quiet. Flicks her eyebrows when she catches me staring and gets back into position at the line of scrimmage.

Is it too much to watch the game unfold from behind my fingers? Because that’s the urge I get at the whistle, as the ball flies through the air again. The players converge. I lose sight of Mel completely, watch in horror as the ball bounces out of her teammate’s awaiting hands and…

“Damn. There she goes—” Brooks recoils in his seat, hands halfway up to his face like he’s getting behind thepeeking through your fingersidea.

Mel fakes a defender, gets open. I swear to God I’ve never seen anything sexier than the way she hustles down the field, blowing past everyone as that ball tumbles toward the ground.

And she’s fucking fast.

She’s a few feet away, and then only another few, but there’s still no way she’ll make it there before that football hits the ground—that is, if she were anyone but the Melody Woods who tore down our high school football field in gym class.

That Melody Woods doesn’t bother running the last few feet. She doesn’t care that this is a for-fun recreational game with only kids as spectators. She’s got a point to prove now. She wants that ball, and she’s going to fucking get it by diving straight into the grass, shoulder first, catching it before it hits the ground.

There’s a collective gasp. My heart is in my fucking ears as she lies there in a crumpled heap for what has to be the longest second of my life. I’ve got the seat in front of me in a death grip.

And then she stirs. Sits up, shakes out her limbs. Stands with a wince, covered in dirt. Her elbow looks scraped up as she calmly marches for the sideline, tosses the ball at one of the coaches and holds out an expectant hand.

“Pay up, Nathan.”

The coaches burst into laughter. Mel clamps her teeth into her lip, trying to stifle a grin and I settle back into my seat, tugging the sleeves of my sweater in place to distract myself from the raging urge to rush down there and carry her off the field, heading straight for the nearest bed.

Mel catches my eye, backing toward the yellow-clad players high-fiving behind her. I bask in the smile she gives me.

“Reel it in, man.” Brooks nudges me with a laugh. “You look like you’re about to bust a nut.”

I might. I really fucking might.

* * *

“We adore your girl, Brooks.”

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