The bleachers erupt.
Reporters scribble and snap pictures of our first successful practice of the season.
Marcus jogs back, shaking his head. “You got butter on your damn shoes, Hayes. Slippery as hell.”
“That’s not butter, that’s talent,” I grin, popping off my helmet. “And a touch of divine intervention.”
Davis rolls his eyes. “God really said, let me humble this man, then forgot.”
“You love showing off for your little wife, don’t you?” JP teases as we jog back.
“What’s next, you gonna propose again on the jumbotron?”
I wipe the sweat off my brow with the bottom of my shirt, flashing a full view of my abs. “What can I say? Gotta remind the world that I’m married to a stunner.”
Practice ends with a final sharp whistle, and the boys break formation, some already tugging off their helmets, others high-fiving and shouting like we didn’t just run drills for two hours under a heatwave.
None of it registers.
Because all I see is her.
Amelia stands near the sideline, just past Coach Mike, her arms still crossed. She shifts her weight to one hip,myjersey knotted at the waist. Her expression is unreadable, but I feel her eyes on me, and fuck, it does something to me.
I start walking toward her, chest still heaving, adrenaline humming under my skin like a second pulse. People are shouting my name, I hear JP yelling something crude behind me, and Pierce laughing so hard he wheezes, but I block it all out.
My steps slow when I get close. The turf crunches beneath my cleats, and Amelia tilts her head slightly, like she already knows I’m about to do something stupid.
I stop in front of her, close enough to smell the sweetness of her perfume. Her brows lift, like she’s silently daring me to behave.
So, of course, I don’t.
Because it’s me, did you expect anything else?
I slide my arm around her waist as the other grips her thighs, and in one swift motion, I scoop her into my arms. Her body lifts easily against mine, and a little gasp leaves her mouth as her hands instinctively clutch my shoulders.
“Maverick!” she hisses.
“You looked like you needed a better view,” I murmur, a slow grin tugging at my mouth. She’s rigid for half a second, caught off guard, before her body softens in my hold.
Her scent fills my lungs, a blend of coconut shampoo with hints of vanilla and citrus. My hands flex slightly, just enough to feel the curve of her waist through the fabric.
I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“For show, dollface,” I whisper, “Gotta keep the illusion alive, right?”
She exhales shakily, her fingers tightening against my shoulders for a split second, and then the flash of a camera goes off. Dozens more follow, the crowd absolutely losing their minds, and I know we’ve just made every headline in the country.
I set her down gently, letting her body slide againstmine a second longer than I should. Her cheeks are flushed—whether from the heat or me, I don’t know.
But she doesn’t push me away.
She looks up, unreadable again. “You’re ridiculous.”
I’m sunkinto the couch with my arm stretched along the back cushions, a hockey game flickers across the TV.
My attention’s locked on the whirlwind of players skating on the ice when her voice cuts through, taking me out of focus.
“What are you watching?” she asks, curling her legs beneath her.
