Chapter 5

Five

Missy

I’ve never stood on the sidelines of a football game before.

Nor have I ever felt shorter or more fragile. Giant men in their pads jog past me on all sides, shouting in growly tones, slamming fists to their chests. Throwing themselves into one another in an apparent attempt to excite themselves and their teammates.

I thought I would be an objective observer, but I find myself…invested in Turk’s former team winning the upcoming game. Mostly because they come over and greet him so warmly, group after group of men in pads, slapping Turk on the shoulder and telling him they miss him on the field. In turn, Turk claims he doesn’t miss their “smelly-ass feet” in the locker room and everyone has a big laugh. I more or less hide behind his back during the first few meetings, but when there is a break in greetings, he turns and looks down at me over his shoulder.

“Are you going to stay back there the entire game, cutie?”

“I don’t want to interrupt your reunion,” I reassure him, curling my fingers in the back of his T-shirt and sidling closer to his warmth.

He reaches back and guides me around until I’m standing in front of him, my head tipped all the way back to keep eye contact. “Actually, I’d love to introduce you to them.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Look.” He plows a set of fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I need to tell them you’re my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” I say again, my heart kicking into a sprint at the thought of being called his girlfriend. “Why…why do you need to do that?” I ask, sounding breathless.

It takes him several seconds to complete a swallow. “I need them to believe I’m your boyfriend so they won’t try to…steal you.”

“Steal me?”

“Yeah. I know that sounds crazy, but my stomach is in fucking knots because I’m worried one of them will ask you out. Even if you said no to them, I think I would still get sick everywhere. Or start a brawl. Or both. Basically it just wouldn’t be pretty.”

“But why?” I search his earnest features and find myself wanting to trace them with my fingertips. “Do you feel responsible for me because you’re my host for the day?”

“Something like that,” he responds hoarsely.

There is no time for delving deeper. Another player approaches, this one slightly less giant than the others. A kicker, perhaps? He shakes hands with Turk, and I watch in fascination as it turns into a back-slapping body slam. Men are such odd creatures. They exchange a few words, then the player removes his helmet, presenting me with a smile clearly meant to charm.

“And who is this?”

It’s instantaneous—Turk’s reaction. He hauls me up against his side. Then decides to take it one step further by lifting me off the ground and holding me like a child with my face pressed into his neck. “She’s my girlfriend, motherfucker. Take that smile somewhere else.”

“Jesus, man,” responds the player with a laugh. “I’m married with two kids. I was just glad to see you finally convinced someone to date your noisy ass.”

Apparently Turk is not reassured. His muscles are still stiffer than concrete.

“I’m more than dating him,” I blurt, wanting to defuse the situation with no idea how. “He’s going to get me pregnant tonight.”

Silence lands heavily on the three of us, although Turk seems to be holding in a laugh. “You heard her. I’m going to be a daddy.”

“You’re already a Daddy,” I say matter-of-factly. “Mine.”

The kicker chokes. “Well good luck with…everything.” He backs away, turns, takes two steps in one direction, before reversing and going in the other.

“How did that go?” I ask Turk, wrapping my arms around his neck, relieved to find him totally devoid of tension.

“Oh, cutie.” He wraps his big arms around me and plants a lingering kiss on my temple. “That went fucking great.”

The game gets underway behind us. Turk seems content to hold me for the entire first half, but I can’t see the game with my nose flattened in his neck, so I ask him to put me down. He obliges, keeping me tucked into his side. And then I unexpectedly become totally entranced by the game. Turk explains the rules to me here and there, cheering at other times, but my mind has locked into what’s taking place on the field. I’m detecting patterns and cataloguing the strengths and weaknesses of both teams’ offense and defense. I’m listening to the coach yell into his headset and call plays. Occasionally, I Google something on my phone that I’m curious about or don’t understand and I begin to recognize plays. Spreads. Formations.

That’s how I already know the outcome of the game before halftime.

When the buzzer sounds to signal the end of the first half, the coach of Turk’s former team stops to shake his hand heartily. “Hey there, Langley,” he says good-naturedly. “You want to suit up for the second half? We could use a bruiser like you in there.”

“My knee surgeon begs to differ.” He squeezes my shoulders. “Coach, this is my girlfriend, Missy.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Missy. Are you enjoying the game?”

“Yes.” Don’t say it. Don’t do it. “I don’t want to tell you how to coach your team, sir, but you need to switch to a shotgun formation. Your quarterback is getting slaughtered out there.” His eyes widen. Is he offended? I don’t know, but the words are already pouring out and I can hear Turk in the back of my head, encouraging me to be honest. “And on defense, your blitz isn’t getting anywhere so it’s just expending energy. The other team throws long on almost every play. It’s possible that a prevent defense would be a better option.”

No one speaks for a full ten seconds.

I’ve definitely embarrassed Turk, haven’t I?

He’s staring down at me dumbstruck, probably in disbelief that he agreed to bring me to this game. I should apologize and call a cab to bring me home, instead of remaining for the second half.

“Hot damn, she’s right,” Turk says, sending a shock wave down the center of me. “Better listen to her, coach. It’s not every day you get a genius to weigh in on football strategy.” He pulls me close and kisses the crown of my head. “Smart girl. You might have saved the day.”

“Yeah…” The coach is furiously making notes on his clipboard. “I need to get to the locker room.”

“Good luck in the second half,” I say on a rush of breath, stunned to find my insight has been valued, instead of resented.

“Apparently I don’t need luck. I’ve got you.”

“Hey,” Turk booms, picking me up off the ground again. “I’ve got her. Just to be clear.”

The coach walks away laughing.

And…I can’t stop smiling. I circle my legs around Turk’s waist and lean into him, our foreheads touching, his eyes seemingly arrested by my mouth. “That was incredible,” I whisper.

“You were incredible.”

“Yes, I was.” Turk laughs warmly at this. “But he followed your lead. He wasn’t going to give me his vote of confidence unless you did it first. And that might not be right, but it’s true.” I snuggle as close as possible, overcome by the safety and acceptance this man makes me feel. “You’re a leader. I told you.”

He makes a short sound, as if he’s finding it hard to speak. “Nothing and nobody has ever made me feel as good as you do, Missy.”

I don’t want to wait anymore to be alone with Turk. My inner thighs are tingling around his hips and the flesh in between pulls continuously. Flexes and grows wetter. “I think…” My face is hotter than a stove, but I press on, knowing he won’t think anything I say is weird. No, he’s going to think it’s glorious. “I think I can make you feel even better.”

His hungry groan makes my tummy flip, those big hands of his climbing my outer thighs and gripping the hem of my tennis skirt. “Fuck it, I can’t wait any more. I’ll drive us back to your place and we’ll get you good and pregnant, cutie.”

“No,” I whimper when his erection bulges against my panties and continues to swell, larger and larger. “I can’t wait that long.”

“I can’t fuck you on the sidelines,” he rasps, giving me one subtle upthrust. Two. Three. “God. Even if I want to.”

“Outfitter has a private box upstairs at this stadium,” I manage, breathing hard against his lips. “We keep it for clients, but I don’t think anyone is there today. I-I have a key.”