Okay, they’re mainly getting up, stretching their legs, chatting among themselves, or heading back to their cars, but still… They could watch us if they wanted.
“You played a great game,” I announce, curling my hands around his waist and revelling in the mix of his cold skin and the heat pouring from his exercised body. “I loved the goal at the end and my favourite was the bit where that guy jumped.”
“Where he was lifted,” he says, bumping me off my feet in a rather different demonstration. “And what’s that called?”
“Rugby,” I say with a confident nod.
“Mm. You don’t want to narrow it down a bit more than that?”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
He pauses at his secondary job of laughing at me long enough to kiss me, his cold lips stirring up a lot of heat.
We turn to go inside, and a kid runs up to him, handing over a branded ball for a signature. He dutifully signs it, smiling more widely than the boy who runs off with his new prize held above his head.
“Such a fame whore.”
“Don’t you know it.”
Rowena has slipped ahead and waits inside with her latest beau. His name might also begin with an R. Or that might be the one from last week. Or the month before that.
“You were fantastic,” she says with enthusiasm, hugging me instead of the object of her praise. “And the box seats were amazing. I felt like royalty looking down on all the plebs of the field.”
“While drinking it out of champagne,” her temporary boyfriend says with an indulgent smile. “And eating all the canapes.”
“I didn’t want whoever went to all the trouble of making them to think their efforts were in vain,” she scolds. “And who named you the eating and drinking policeman, hm?”
“God almighty,” the boy says, letting the accusation roll off him without the slightest bit sticking. “Who else?”
“Roald!” I blurt, so proud of remembering that I forget about my volume control.
“Anything else you want to add to that?” he asks with an amused frown. “Or was that the extent of it?”
“Leave her alone.” Rowena covers a large smirk with her hand. “If you had as many members in your harem as I do in mine, your friends would have trouble telling your men apart, too.”
“I’m not sure that’s the right word any longer,” he says, slinging an arm around her waist and pulling her closer; a subconscious stamp of possession if ever I saw one. “But if you want to introduce me to the rest of your polyamorous suitors, feel free.”
“Oh, he’s a keeper,” I announce, taking hold of the arm of the one I’m keeping, too.
But Seb gently shakes me off. “I need to go shower, get changed, and then address my adoring public.”
“Excellent,” Rowena announces. “I love the media scrums best of all.”
Roald casts an appreciative eye over her. “That’s my actress in waiting.”
I expect my friend to take umbrage at the possessive descriptor buried in that teasing sentence, but she turns and beams at him instead.
Pfft. Weak.
Admittedly, I also like when Seb gets his possessive on, but Rowena should have far more sense than me.
My eyes flick sideways, taking another snapshot of Roald, wondering if she might finally have found someone who can outlast a month.
“Got to go,” I announce with reluctance. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Should I be concerned?” Seb asks, arching his right eyebrow until there’s a responding buzz low in my stomach.
“You can be whatever you like, my darling. Not with any basis in reality, but don’t let that hold you back.”
