Eight

eight

Felicity: a state of happiness

SPENCER

“Come on answer me!” Lori insists as we walk down the stairs between the rows of bleachers at the football stadium. “If you were forced to mix your DNA with an animal’s DNA, which animal would you choose? And why?”

This will be the first time I’m watching TJ play, and I feel on edge for some weird reason. Asking Lori to come with me might have been a wrong move. Like me, he knows nothing about football. He agreed to join only to ogle the players. “Face to butt,” he said.

It’s good to keep my mind busy and not let it fall down the doubt-filled rabbit hole, though, even if the distraction is in the form of a mad-as-a-cow, impossible friend.

“A lizard. I’d be fast, ectothermic, have exceptional eyesight, could live anywhere, and smell with my tongue and also detach my tail—that’s a cool trick,” I finish. “You?”

“A koala.”

My foot stops in midair as I look back at him with a confused frown. “Why?”

“I’d be incredibly cute and so…smushy.” He shrugs. Fuck, his craziness is hard to beat.

I finally find our row. TJ said these are the best seats in the stadium, lower level around the fifty-yard line—whatever the hell that is.

It’s fucking cold. I rub my gloved hands and roll my shoulders, fighting against the shivers rushing down my body. Lori is attracting quite a few interested gazes. The neon red wool hat with a huge black pompom at the top could be a reason, but his plump lips and the confident way he carries himself are the real magnets.

He arrived earlier at my apartment, bringing a bag full of makeup, nail polishes, and winter accessories, all matching the team’s uniform colors. He applied a red eyeliner and black eyeshadow on my eyes and then painted the number fourteen on my cheek—TJ’s jersey number. He also painted my nails red and black, and wrote a big-ass sign that says “TJ’s Bitches” with arrows pointing down at us.

Lori opens his Vuitton bag and takes out a tall tumbler, a big burgundy blanket, and a pair of binoculars.

I pull my red knit hat lower on my forehead as he places the warm checkered fabric on our laps. “Do you have a stalker kit in there?” I joke.

“No, but that’s an idea.” He taps his black and red nail on his chin. “You look nervous, what gives?”

“What if his team loses? Will he ask me to come to another game or label me a jinx and?—”

He stops my rambling by placing his whole hand over my face, which I promptly swat away.

“Have you suffered a recent blow to the head?” He rolls his eyes at me.

“Hey, nutso! Words hurt,” I retort with a glare.

“Oh, sorry,” he says with a voice too sweet for my liking. “Have you suffered a recent blow to the head?” he repeats using a feign cheery tone. “Come on! That’s the only explanation. You’ve been doing the dance with no pants with the quarterback for weeks now and revealed it to me only yesterday.”

“Tackle,” I correct him. “TJ is a defensive tackle. Of that, I’m sure. I wrote it down, see?” I take off my glove and show him my palm.

“I have a two-part question for you. First, are you kidding me? And second, are you really bloody kidding me?” His high-pitched voice catches a few people’s attention. My glower makes them mind their business again. “I fucking knew it! It’s a Krampus miracle!”

I huff with annoyance. “Stop with this Krampus nonsense.”

He ignores me. “You didn’t fuck the guy I hooked you up with that night because Thor was in the picture already.”

“That’s an asinine nickname,” I comment, doing my best to avoid a reply. The fact that I have feelings for TJ doesn’t mean I want to announce it to the whole stadium.

“Quit with the sophisticated language. You let me write his number on your sodding cheek! Either you are a clone or you are on team whipped-and-owned.”

“Sometimes I don’t listen to you. I just look at your jaw going up and down,” I taunt him.

He ignores me. “Did you show him the dark side of the moon?”

“And that jaw never seems to stop.”

“Straight to Ur- anus and finishing with the Milk- y Way.” He smirks knowingly because his dirty thought train is going in the same direction as mine.

I try, failing, to stifle my smile. “You’re certifiable.”

“And you did all the above. Again. It’s a Krampus miracle. My Spencer-Dancer is happy.”

Yes. I fucking am.

The crowd around us comes alive, cheering and screaming as the Wolves—TJ’s team—starts filing out onto the field. Then I see him running, number fourteen. My soul hums with pure undiluted lust and something else. Something warm and scary that curls my lips up and pushes me to my feet.

He stops in the middle of the field and looks up right in my direction, pointing a finger at me. Embarrassment warms my cheeks as I see the people near me look curiously around and halt their eyes on me and Lori—who’s jumping up and down, holding his homemade sign high.

“Lord in hell! This is brilliant! I need to post this.” He takes a quick picture of me and then starts tapping on his phone. But I don’t care, my eyes are on TJ joining his teammates in a close circle.

“That’s a huddle,” Lori suddenly says. “The team captain or quarterback usually holds it before each offensive play.”

I raise a questioning brow at him, and in response, he pulls a Football for Dummies book out of his Mary Poppins bag.

“The only thing I knew about football was how comfortable jockstraps are. I needed to educate myself,” he clarifies.

Just when I’m contemplating grabbing the book for a look, someone sits next to me. The smell of expensive cologne makes me turn their way, and I freeze. It’s TJ’s father, Taylor William Francis Moore the Third—I might have googled him after I saw him with TJ two days ago.

Stiff back, sour expression, and cold eyes. Can’t believe he’s TJ’s father.

“You know who I am, correct?” he utters in a superior tone, eyes on the football field.

“You’re talking to me therefore you know who I am,” I reply with the same tone. He must be here to see me since TJ said that his father never comes to watch him play.

“Do you know who I am?” Lori suddenly asks, catching TJ’s father’s icy gaze for a second before he moves it to me. I’d laugh if the situation wasn’t so grave.

I grab Lori’s arm to stop whatever sassy statement he has ready. This doesn’t concern him.

“I certainly do, Mr. Anderson. Your background is quite…colorful.” His expression turns to disgust for a moment.

“That’s one way to describe my past,” I snort, while inside, a cold fury is slowly rising. I won’t let old memories weigh me down.

He lowers his supercilious gaze on me, his eyes quickly cataloging my inferior traits. “Let’s cut to the chase. How much?”

I feel Lori tensing near me, but I tighten my fingers around his winter jacket’s sleeve.

I feign ignorance, tilting my head to the side.

“How much to disappear from my son’s life?” Mr. Moore clarifies. He doesn’t deserve to be called a father, especially TJ’s.

“What life? The one under your dictatorship?” I retort heatedly.

“You know nothing about my relationship with Taylor.”

“I know more than I’d like, and it’s total bullshit. Your soon-to-be-ex wife told him the truth about his grandfather’s trust fund. There’s no clause that says he must work for your company. He’ll get the money next year anyway.”

“Lies. My wife is an addict,” Mr. Moore hisses.

“TJ talked to his lawyers”—I even asked Gabe and Lori to double-check the papers—“They confirmed that if he decides to work for your company, half of the trust found will be transferred to it. Odd, TJ was never informed of that, nor of the fact that your company is on the verge of bankruptcy,” I repeat what TJ told me a few days ago. Mr. Moore is a fucking dick who has disgustingly used his son all his life.

“You little shit, you don’t know what I’m capable of,” Mr. Moore hisses, looking ready to pounce on me.

“I’m not afraid of you. Bring it on,” I growl, ready to punch some justice into his pompous face. TJ defended me against his teammates, and I’m going do the same for him.

“One wrong move, and you’re dead.” Lori smirks menacingly at him. I know Gabe is into something shady. His whole family is. But I never asked, because I respect the guy. And I love Lori.

The crowd suddenly shouts and screams, and I notice that the Wolves have made a goal…no, touchdown. TJ’s helmeted head is tilted up toward me, arms in the air, before one of his teammates jumps on him.

Mr. Moore’s face morphs into a satisfied, evil, hateful smirk. “I see right through you. You’re scum. You think Taylor will keep you? When he discovers your past, he’ll discard you. He’ll never settle with trailer trash from the worst neighborhood in Chicago. You are just a pastime until he gets his hands on his trust fund. Then he’ll toss you aside. And if he goes to the NFL?” He sneers. “He’ll leave you behind like yesterday’s trash.”

“No, he won’t, you snobbish arsehole,” Lori retorts, earning a glare from Mr. Moore.

The fury inside me has reached its peak. This piece of shit needs to leave now, or I’ll rearrange his face and probably end up in jail. “I’m tired of listening to you. Get the fuck away from me and TJ,” I snap, adding a hint of threat to my words.

He slowly stands up and takes his time to adjust his gloves, to prove that he’s not afraid of me. “You are nothing, an insect ready to be squashed.” Then with a derisive sniff, he walks away.

“See you soon, stylish arsehole!” Lori calls after him, then he turns to me. “Blimey! That was intense.” I hardly hear him as he keeps talking.

Mr. Moore’s words keep echoing in my ears. Dump, never settle, toss aside, pastime, scum, trash, squashed.

“Spencer, hey!” Lori suddenly flicks my nose, making me blink. “Snap out of it. Don’t let him get inside your head. That twat was spewing shit.”

I nod. All the bastard wanted was his son’s money, and when he discovered he couldn’t get it, he hurt me by feeding my doubts. He went right for the jugular, leaving me naked and open, like a wound bleeding out. He must have paid for a very detailed background on me since he knew where to aim.

I can’t believe that my sweet TJ came from that…arsehole.

I stand up, moving the blanket away from my lap. “I’ll grab something to eat,” I hurriedly say to Lori as I start walking toward the stairs. He calls after me, but I keep going.

I need to move. I can’t breathe properly, still smelling his disgusting cologne on me. Anger is riding me hard, and doubts whirl inside my head. I need TJ. I need to feel his adoring eyes on me and his reassuring arms around my body. It took only three weeks with him to turn me into a needy idiot.

I hear a long, loud whistle. Then the crowd roars with excitement. I glance back and then blink multiple times as I see TJ rapidly climbing the stairs between the rows of bleachers until he reaches me. He’s not wearing a helmet, and his messy hair and red face are damp with sweat.

“Baby, where are you going?” he pants, his fearful eyes flickering between mine.

“You… The game,” I splutter, pointing at the field, not understanding what’s going on. Did he leave the game to talk to me? I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed. Is it?

“Where are you going?” he asks again, and this time, I hear the anxiousness in his voice.

“To grab a churro to shove up your father’s ass in case he comes back.” I lift my palms up. “Don’t say it’s not healthy food, his flaccid rear won’t mind.” I try to play it cool, but my voice comes out trembly. Inside, I’m a fucking wreck.

“Come here.” He climbs another step. Two more, and we will be chest to chest.

I shake my head. Everybody is staring at us. I feel on display. Vulnerable. The silence is deafening. I push a weak hand to his chest, but he moves another step. And then? Then he slowly goes down on one knee.

It’s like a sledgehammer to the heart seeing him lowering down. Everything stops. Stillness surrounds me while every muscle inside my body tingles. My skin feels prickly. My insides twist and my mouth turns dry.

“Bloody hell!” I hear Lori’s gasp.

“It’s my turn to give you a fancy word,” he says, taking my hand and threading our fingers. “You’re incandescent. There’s a sense of radiance and inner light about you, that captivates and illuminates the world around you. It fucking ensnared me, you did, Spencer Anderson. You guided me toward a better path, the right path with your perseverance, integrity, and…balls of steel.”

I take a trembly breath while I hear some giggling around us.

“There’s nobody but me and you, since the day you landed on my lap. The most beautiful and annoying man who’s ever elbowed me in the guts,” he adds.

I feel a tear rolling down my cheek as I smile at him. He swept away all my doubts in less than a minute.

“You’re going nowhere unless I follow you, baby,” he says earnestly.

Oh God, he needs to shut up, or I’ll fill this stadium with tears. “That’s quite clingy and stalkerish,” I joke; my voice sounds wet.

“And you love it.”

Fuck yes, I do. It certainly helps with my fear of abandonment.

“And you love…me?” he asks hesitantly in his softest voice.

I gasp, more tears falling down. His brown puppy eyes shine brightly with hope.

I let out a shaky exhale and nod again, my heart racing inside my chest.

“Of course, he bloody does, Thor!” We both smile at Lori’s comment.

“Just as much as I love you,” TJ confesses.

I close my eyes and suck in a trembling breath before looking down at him again. I shake my head. He frowns and part his lips, but I don’t let him utter another word. I cup his face and tug it toward mine, foreheads touching.

“More,” I whisper on his lips just before he captures mine in a passionate kiss and lifts me up in his arms without leaving my mouth. Screams and claps and some booing—homophobic jackasses—rise from the people around us.

When we part, I'm panting and he’s smiling like a loon. It makes me chuckle.

“I have a game to finish, probably going to be benched for the rest of it, but I don’t fucking care,” he tells me. “It was worth it. You are worth it, baby.”

Baby. Baby. Baby.

“I’ll go back to my seat.” I pat his chest.

“Give me those lips again before I go. I need all the luck I can get.” His puppy eyes are gleaming with mirth. I’ll never be able to resist them, will I?

“What about your lucky cap?”

“You’re all the luck I need, Spencer.”

I smile and kiss him deep and fast. And then I follow his tight ass until he reaches the field.

“Team whipped-and-owned,” I hear Lori singsong.

TJ Moore fucking blindsided me. And whipped or not, he surely owns my heart.