Maybe it was because they came from the sweet, glossy lips of Emily Huxley.
“Thank you,” I said.
I should have walked away. I should have nodded a goodnight and bolted for the door.
As it was, I was rooted in place, my eyes greedily taking advantage of the excuse I had to finally look at the woman I’d been working so hard to ignore. I kept it brief, at least — the track of my gaze from her wide, dark eyes to the ink stretched across her skin. I clocked the way her uniform accentuated her subtle curves, how the cut between the skirt and the top was perfectly made to show off her tight abdomen.
When I met her eyes again, she was smiling wider.
It was as unnerving as it was enticing. She loved when I looked at her. She didn’t shy away from my gaze one bit.
She blossomed beneath it.
“Did you see the little dance I did for you when you scored that touchdown?” she asked.
I smirked, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. “Afraid I missed it.”
On purposewere the words I didn’t add. I knew better than to risk a look in her direction after I scored. I would have been so distracted I probably would have ran right into the field goal post.
“Aw, that’s too bad.” She pretended to pout, her bottom lip jutting out before she inched closer and waggled her brows. “Want me to do it again? Maybe in a different setting… with less clothes?”
My heart leapt into my throat, which I cleared as I looked around to make sure no one had overheard her.
Emily chuckled, the sound warm and addicting. “Relax, Boss. Our contract says not to make out — it doesn’t say we can’t talk to each other. Look around you.”
She gestured to the other players and staff members who were passing by. Some walked alone, but others chatted with one another, players and dancers laughing before they split ways. The players walked through the tunnel of fans to the player parking lot while the dancers went straight, heading for the staff exit on the far side of the stadium.
I let myself look at her again, and just like before, I felt the air punch out of my lungs at the sight of her teasing smile.
“How was it?” I asked, unable to help myself. “Your first game.”
“Incredible,” she breathed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you guys hear yourself think with those fans screaming their heads off like that.”
“It fuels us. It’s our opponents it creates problems for.”
“Then I guess that’s why they call them the twelves, huh?”
She smiled, hands clasped behind her back as she did a little shake of her shoulders.
“Hey, man, gotta keep it moving,” the security guard to the side of us said. He shrugged like it was out of his hands, gesturing for me to walk out toward the parking lot and not clog the tunnel.
I nodded to him and then to Emily, wishing I didn’t have to leave her, wishing I could have what I wanted without it jeopardizing everything I cared about most.
“See you around, Trouble,” I said, and because I’m a glutton for punishment, I reached out and thumbed her chin, my eyes falling to her lips for the briefest second before I tore my hand and my gaze away and started for the barricades.
I made it all of five steps before Emily was at my side again.
I frowned, looking down at her with eyes I hoped communicatedwhat the fuck are you doing?But I couldn’t say anything out loud — not now that we were in the throngs of dozens of screaming fans.
“Braden! I’m your biggest fan! Please, sign my ball!”
“Lock! Lock! Over here!”
“You’re the best, Lock!”
“Braden! I love you!”
There were phones everywhere, capturing pictures and video, and camera flashes from actual cameras, too. I smiled as I reached for a marker and ball from a kid who looked to be no older than ten, scribbling my signature across the ball before I handed it back to him. He celebrated as I moved down the line and posed for a selfie with a group of fans.
