I let my head fall to the side. “All these young girls know exactly who the hot American footballer is.”
He grins. “Hot, huh? Good thing I have you to protect me.”
“Ha. I had to leave my Sig at home.”
He leans down, his lips brushing the corner of mine. “I’m not worried.” He laces his fingers with mine. “I know these babies are weapons.”
His bright blue eyes sparkle, and he tugs me back toward the crowd to sign more jerseys and pose for selfies. I follow him down the line, making sure they all keep their hands where I can see them and to themselves.
Two nights ago, we had dinner with Hope and Track, and I told them I was leaving the country with Cole. Track gave me duces, told me to have fun, and never come back. He was joking, I think. Maybe only partially.
Those weeks after the shooting, Track’s words wouldn’t leave me alone.
I’ve never considered that I could live for anything other than pulling those from the darkness, which was once the only thing I knew. Fear and shame and the web of anxiety they spin will forever want to strangle me. But this is a start—laying down my sword as Kerry said, the one I like to hold to my own throat. With time and Cole’s help, I might have a shot at knowing what it would feel like to love myself.
I’ve wondered if that’s what it takes—letting someone love us, even all of the ugly parts we keep hidden, so we know what it feels like. Then, at some point, we can extend bits of it to ourselves.
We’re ushered to our box, where food and drinks wait. Finally, we’re alone again, and it’s quiet.
From the window, I peer down on the bright green field, and Cole’s gentle arms slide around me from behind, careful and with ease.
“Do you know how this game works, or is this like football, and you’re going to pretend to know what you’re talking about?”
He spins me to face him and links his arms around me. “All right, smartass.”
I bite my lip, doing my damnedest not to smile.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a flirt?”
“Never in my life.”
“I like that you flirt with me.”
I shrug my good shoulder. “You’re fun to test it out on.”
He leans down and presses his lips to mine. “Test all you want, but it’d better be only with me.” He kisses me again, a little longer this time, but releases me, giving me time to get used to all of these feelings and the fear that lies on the other side of them.
He takes my hand, and we sit to watch the players warming up on the sidelines.
“Which one is he?”
Cole points toward the center of the field. “He’s number five.”
He’s tall, dark-haired, and all lean-cut muscle, just like Cole.
“Looks like your brother has a fan club of his own.” Fans scream and wave posters with his name and number.
“Yeah, I worry about him being all the way over here by himself, but he’s an incredible soccer player. He’s earned being here.” I hear the tender concern in his tone.
“Lyla has shoots and events here all the time. We’ll have her check on him.”
I can feel those gorgeous eyes on me, but I keep my gaze straight ahead. When my body starts to prickle, I give in. “You’re staring at me.”
“I’m not staring.”
I know he’s grinning. “Yes. You. Are.”
“No, I’m not. I’m. . .thinking.”
