"You sound like you're writing a grant proposal," I tell him.
"I'm mentally documenting our progress. We've gone from five socially isolated individuals to—" He pauses, counting. "—five socially isolated individuals attending a sporting event. Growth."
"Technically, Seb's not isolated anymore," Max points out with a bit of a sigh. "He's got a whole football player."
"I don't have him. We're… "
"You're wearing his jersey."
"That doesn't mean?—"
"You're wearing his name on your back. Like a brand. Like property."
"I'm being supportive."
"You're being claimed." Max grins. "It's cute. Disgusting, but cute."
I flip him off. He blows me a kiss.
The exhibition is in full swing, some kind of skills competition that I don't fully understand but involves a lot of running and catching, and the crowd is going absolutely feral every few minutes. I spot Gavin on the sidelines, helmet off, laughing at something one of his teammates said.
Even from here, he looks massive. Shoulders broad enough to block out the sun. Thighs like tree trunks. That easy smile that makes my stomach flip.
God, I've got it bad.
"Your heart rate just increased," JP observes. "I can tell by the flush creeping up your neck."
"Shut up."
"Also, you're smiling. It's disturbing."
"You're all dead to me. Especially you, Max."
"No, I'm not." Max hooks his arm through mine. "I'm your favorite. That's why you're mad."
He's right. Annoyingly, frustratingly right.
The skills competition wraps up, and there's now some kind of touch game Gavin told me has some high school players mixed in. It's a recruiting thing, apparently. The young guys are in yellow jerseys and look equally terrified and thrilled.
"Okay, I have a question," Leo says slowly. "Why do they keep stopping? They run for three seconds and then everyone just... stands around."
"Strategic planning?" I guess.
"It's inefficient."
"It's tradition?"
"Inefficient tradition."
Max pats Leo's arm. "Just watch the tight pants, buddy. That's what I'm doing."
Leo's jaw tightens. "I don't care about the tight pants."
"Sure you don't."
The touch game continues. I watch Gavin move. Even in a casual scrimmage, he's something else. Fast for his size. Powerful. He looks like he knows what's going on before it happens, like he's got some kind of football ESP.
My football player. Mine.
