He grins when he sees me, and my heart patters inside my chest. Callum tugs on the back of Lucca’s jersey and, to Matt’s sorrow, the man steps down from the cement pad. He jumps up to replace him. “You made it.” Looking around me, he spots my seat and the Red Tail pad there. “And you got your stadium seat cushion. Good, I was worried about yourback.” His eyes drag back to my face, and he winks.
6:39 p.m., my heart decides it’s a racehorse, and it’s in it to win it.
From the corner of my eye, Matt is sliding down the row of seats, the opposite direction of me and the same as Lucca Cruz, all while waggling my pen at the player. But Lucca is distracted. He’s paused just a few steps away—like all of Callum’s teammates, he watches Cal.
“Yep, I made it,” I say. I shrug, swallow, and keep my eyes off of anyone but Callum. “Of course I did.”
“No date?” he says, still with the grin. Does he always smile this much?
“Oh.” That’s right—Paul’s coming. “He’s on his way.” At least, I’m assuming he is.
“These aren’t the best seats,” Cal tells me. “But I wanted to say hello if I could. And this is where my family always sits.”
His family? I’m not sure why it touches me so much to be in his family’s regular seating, but it does. “That’s nice. Thanks, Cal.”
“Hey, good luck charm! Let’s go!” Lucca yells, too far back for Matt to reach him. “Give the man a kiss. Coach wants us inside.”
Pink washes over Cal’s tan cheeks. He doesn’t acknowledge his teammate. In fact, he goes on like Lucca never even spoke. “National anthem is in fifteen minutes. That’s when we’ll be back out. Have fun?—”
“Kiss her!” a small group of the men chant. It’s like my own personal squad of cheerleaders, all dressed up and speaking my language.
The crowd of fans around us has gained a whole lot of interest—well, except for Matt, who is still swinging my pen toward Lucca.
Cal twists around, peering behind him at the chanters.
6:41 p.m., blood rushes through my veins. My heart works overtime. There is a tingly sensation in every nerve ending of my body. I am consumed with warmth. With heat. With longing.
Callum kissed me.
So, why can’t I kiss him back?
I tap on Callum’s shoulder, and he whips back around. We are eye to eye, with me in the stands and him on the cement step below this half-wall. With the group still chanting in my ears, I lean over this advertisement board, press both my hands to Callum’s cheeks, and crash my lips into his. He’s sweet and minty, making me crave peppermints and ice cream.
Arms snake around my back as Cal kisses me back. The entire serendipitous moment lasts about four seconds. Four seconds of bliss, heat, and cheers from Callum’s teammates.
Our lips separate, and Cal’s warm breath drifts over my lips and into my nostrils.
Callum clears his throat, his eyes lobbing up to mine.
I swallow. “Good luck,” I say, just barely getting the words out.
“Yeah. Good luck,” Cal mumbles back. He stumbles the two steps down and jogs through the exit along with his team.
Matt huffs—I don’t blame him. Lucca never did sign anything. He stuffs my pen in the pocket of his sweatshirt before sitting back down.
I’m about to protest—I like that pen—when?—
“Uh, Fran? Hello.”
I spin around to a man. Nope, not just a man, but my date. Paul, standing on the bleacher steps, just outside our row. Just two seats away from me. And with a very clear view of my kiss with Cal.
Fifteen
“What was that?”I mutter to myself on our way back to the team room.
Lucca chuckles beside me. “If you don’t know, I’m guessing Franny can clue you in.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Lucca, come on. Not cool. You guys were egging her on. And right before a game.Thisgame. What were you thinking?”
