Page 86 of Playing to Win
“Totally agree.”
Since the social media team is allotted one person on the sidelines at every game, it was Eric’s turn to be down there. He gets the best field footage out of the three of us, so it makes sense for him to film all the plays. Gwen, though, was down there during the first game.
I’ll be down there the next home game, which is in three weeks. Our team has a bye next week, and an away game after that.
Even if we’re not on the field itself during a game, we still have pretty great seats since we get to be in the media section. One of the many perks of being on the football team’s social media crew.
“Who do you want me to talk to?” I ask Gwen as we leave the stands and head toward the gate, where the guard will eventually let us out onto the field.
“I want to talk to the guy who scored the last touchdown,” Gwen answers, which isn’t a surprise. “Think he’ll film with me?”
“Of course, he will,” I say without hesitation. “Guess I’ll go talk to Ace.”
Ooh, such a hardship. Don’t know how I’ll manage it.
We’re eventually let on the field and Gwen and I go our separate ways; she in search of the beefy lineman who ran in that final touchdown and me in search of our golden boy QB. The very man who had me pinned against a bathroom stall door, his hand in my panties, his fingers making me come only a few days ago.
Yikes.
I wander around the field, stopping to talk to some of the players and film them real quick, while asking them silly questions on camera. There are all sorts of people out here and it feels more crowded than usual. I try my best to ignore the panicky feeling growing inside my chest, but it’s no use. I’m freaking out.
I can’t find Ace.
My disappointment grows with every step and I glance over my shoulder toward the exit gate. I should probably go. Text Gwen and see if she wants to meet up and go over anything. The last home game we just went our separate ways after we were finished but maybe…
Ugh, maybe I’m just feeling lonely and wishing I had someone to talk to. Like Ace.
Turning, I head toward the exit gates, my head held high, smiling at anyone who passes me when I swear I hear someone calling my name.
No. I’m imagining it.
But then I hear it again. Though it’s not my name that’s being called. It’s my nickname. And there’s only one person who calls me Red.
Coming to a stop, I turn, my smile growing when I see Ace striding toward me, still clad in his uniform and safety pads, looking broad and dangerous and a gorgeous mess. My heart starts racing when I see that gleam in his eyes and he’s heading straight for me, his steps determined.
He only stops when he’s directly in front of me, and I drink him in. He does the same to me, our gazes eating each other up almost greedily. His helmet is gone, his hair is sticking up all over the place and he’s a little sweaty around the temples. There’s this glow in his eyes and this look on his handsome face that has me feeling all melty and gooey inside, and not in a bad way.
No, in the very best way.
“Red.” His voice is warm and deep and reaches right inside me, grabbing hold of my heart and giving it a giant squeeze. “You came to my game.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say way too brightly. I wince, mentally telling myself to calm down.
His smile grows. “Wasn’t Derek’s interception amazing?”
“Wait a minute. That was our Derek?” How did I not put it together? Am I in such a haze that I can’t even think clearly while watching a football game, my focus solely on the man in front of me?
“It was our Derek,” he says with a nod, his expression amused. I think he might’ve liked that I used the word ‘our.’ “He’s so proud of himself. He’s going to be insufferable tonight.”
“He helped win the game,” I point out.
“Yeah, he did.” Ace tilts his head to the side, his hot gaze raking over me slowly. “You look good.”
“So do you,” I say without hesitation because oh my God, it’s true. I don’t care how dirty he might be or if he smells. He’s glorious.
He chuckles. “I’m a mess.”
A sexy, want to rub myself all over you, mess, is what I want to say, but I keep my thoughts to myself. “Nothing a shower can’t fix.”
