When we reach an elevator bay, June, May, and I cluster near a wall to stay out of the way, while Jan pulls out his phone. “I’m going to be taking the girls up to the suite,” he says to me, still looking down at his phone. “But August... ah, there.”
I glance over my shoulder and find August coming toward us. He’s not in uniform but wearing a thin gray T that clings to his chest and loose-fitting blue athletic shorts with the team logo emblazoned on one thigh. His gaze locks onto mine.
Damn, but he makes me flutter.
He doesn’t break that easy, graceful gait until he’s right before me. He stops and simply smiles. That smile goes right through my clothes and heats up my skin.
“Penelope.”
“August.”
His grin grows broad. “Penelope.”
“Back to this, are we?”
A warm chuckle escapes him. “Guess we are.”
“Shouldn’t you be in uniform?”
“It’s a while yet until game time, and once that kit goes on, it ain’t easily coming off. I’m in warm-up gear now.” A quick wink. “Were you wanting to see me in my uniform, Pen?”
“You could put your helmet on. Cover that smug smile.”
“Cutting me deep, Sweets.”
“You’ll live, Pickle.”
“Told you,” says May from the sidelines.
I’d forgotten about them. Damn it. Their presence somehow manages to thrust me right back to being a teenager, peering at August from the corners. I find myself wanting to squirm.
Jan watches with interest. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
August ignores everyone in favor of looking at me as if I’m some mirage that might soon dissipate.
Jan says something about coming back for me, but I’m too drawn in by August’s regard to fully answer. All too soon we’re alone—well, as alone as we can be standing off to the side of a busy pregame corridor.
August breaks the silence. “You came.”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Are you?” He sounds so quietly surprised, I snap out of my shyness.
“This is my first time attending an NFL game. And it’s you.”
That gets him. He draws in a quick breath.
“Pen.” He says it sweetly, like a sigh after a long climb. As if pulled by a string, his hand lifts, and he traces the curve of my jaw. “You’re good for me, you know that?”
“I don’t...” My train of thought derails. I don’t know how anyone is expected to keep their head when August Luck looks at them with that soft, happy smile.
I’m in serious danger of flinging myself right onto his body and taking a big bite. Empathy for Sarah’s earlier zombie state rises.
“It’s good to see January,” I blurt out.
He glances at the elevators where Jan and the girls had left from. “Part of me wishes he was playing instead of watching.”
“How is he taking it?”
