Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
JENSEN
THEN
JANUARY
“Babe, come on!” I shout from the couch. “You’re gonna miss kickoff!”
What’s she doing? She was just in the kitchen two minutes ago, putting wings in the air fryer, and now she’s vanished. “Babe!” I call again, glancing over my shoulder, keeping one eye on the TV.
She appears seconds later, padding down the hall in nothing but one of my Jets jerseys.
I raise a brow. “I can’t believe I’m saying this—but I’m gonna need you to put some pants on. This game’s important for my fantasy team, and if that’s all you’re wearing…” I scoff under my breath. “I’m gonna spend the whole game thinking about fucking you instead of watching my quarterback.”
She just laughs and flashes me a wicked grin, then grabs the charcuterie board and brings it over to the coffee table. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
I lick my lips. “It’s distracting.”
My eyes rake up her bare legs as she leans forward to make herself a plate. She always wears one of my jerseys—it’s sexy as fuck. But no pants? That’s another level.
We’ve been dating for four months now. She’s been coming over every Sunday to watch football, and she goes all out—buffalo wings, charcuterie boards, little smokies, you name it.
It’s not just impressive; it’s super cool.
I’ve never had a girlfriend who actually liked football, let alone made it an event.
It’s quickly becoming my favorite part of the week.
Sometimes Matt or a few other friends join, but today? Today, it’s just us.
Her eyes flick to mine, and I smother a grin. Busted—I was staring. Hard.
A sly smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Don’t worry… I’m wearing underwear.”
She plops down next to me, curling into my side, and weaves her fingers between mine.
I shift uncomfortably, adjusting my dick with my free hand. “Is that supposed to make you less fuckable?” I ask with a smirk.
Her bottom lip rolls between her teeth as she tries to suppress a grin. I press my lips to her temple as the kicker lines up. A few seconds later, his foot connects with the ball and the game begins.
“Which guys are yours again?” Alley asks.
“The quarterback and the tight end. Numbers seventeen and thirty-seven.”
“Okay. Cool.”
This is one of the best parts. She asks questions about my fantasy team. Cheers for my guys. She actually watches the game with me. She cares. It’s such a fucking turn-on.
It’s like I found my soulmate. We’re so incredibly different, but we want the same things. We have so much fun together.
We’ve been home from Chicago for about a week and a half.
New Year’s was a whole different ball game.
It made every other year feel like a joke—kissing some random at midnight or dragging a girl to Matt’s party just so I didn’t have to go alone?
What was the point? I’d been playing the dating game without even knowing the rules.
Just showing up because that’s what you’re supposed to do.
But this New Year’s, it was like I finally saw the whole picture.
Finally understood what matters. What it means to win.
The whole damn meaning of life. When you find someone like Alley, you don’t take the easy pass.
You don’t half-ass it. You cling to it. She’s the touchdown.
The game-winning point. Girls like her don’t come along for everyone. So when they do, you run for the goal.
You fucking show up.
Alley’s family and friends were cool. Easy to talk to, welcoming—but you could tell they’re protective of her. They love her. And honestly… how could you not?
She shifts beside me, my hand dropping to her thigh, fingers skimming her smooth skin. My gaze follows, thoughts of dragging up the hem of that jersey taking over, pushing football to the side.
“Oh! Your guy has the ball!” she says, nudging me with her elbow.
My head jerks up, focus snapping to my quarterback. My grip tightens on Alley’s thigh as he makes a pass—a crucial one—resulting in a touchdown.
“Yes!” I jump out of my seat, whooping and clapping. Alley cheers right along with me.
I sink back into the couch, and she kisses me—hot, celebratory. It takes everything in me not to keep going.
“So how many points do you get for that?” she asks.
It’s so damn cute how she wants to learn about fantasy football.
“Passing touchdown gets me four.” I rub my hands together. “Jake better buckle up. I’m coming for that win.” I’m in the finals against a buddy of mine at work.
“Hell yeah!” She puts her hand up for a high-five, and I meet it enthusiastically.
During the next commercial break, Alley heads into the kitchen to finish the wings.
“Babe, you want another beer?” she calls out.
“Yeah. That’d be great.”
I watch her move around my kitchen like it’s her own, rummaging through the fridge, my Jets jersey rising with every lift of her arms. I like it. Damn, I wish she never had to go home.
Whoa. That’s a thought I didn’t see coming.
She pops the top off my beer, tossing the opener back into the drawer where it came from. It does something to me, watching her like this. A grin spreads across my face, and my chest tightens—but not in the bad way. Not the aching kind. The good kind. The kind that says I can’t get enough of her.
She brings my beer and the wings over to the coffee table. And yeah, I know, she’s serving me like I’m a fucking king. But trust me, I’ve offered to help a hundred times. This is her thing. She loves cooking. And she keeps telling me how much fun it is to make football Sundays special for me.
Like I said—she’s the best.
By the time the second quarter’s nearly over, I’m two beers in and full of buffalo wings.
One of Alley’s arms is looped around mine, while the other traces light strokes up and down my forearm, gliding over my fingertips before trailing back up.
It’s sensual as hell, and I’m torn—between wanting to fuck her right here on the couch and not wanting to miss the game.
Not only am I in the fantasy finals, but the Super Bowl’s coming up. It’s a big deal.
I try not to think about Alley naked. I force my eyes to the screen, but my cock’s already throbbing inside my joggers. I know she sees it. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She loves to fuck with me—always ready to crack a joke about my boner.
It’s almost halftime. I can make it five more minutes.
Well, five minutes in football time. Fuck. That’s like twenty.
The game breaks for commercial, and Alley glances up at me. “Hey… will you explain how this game works?”
“What?” My brows pull together. “What do you mean, explain how it works?”
Her one dimple sinks deep into her cheek as she grins. “I don’t know anything about football.” She giggles, and it’s the cutest fucking thing. “I honestly have no clue what’s going on. I never watched it growing up.”
My heart stutters, my eyes locking on hers with more adoration than I’ve ever felt for anyone. “Are you serious?” The fuck?
“Dead.”
Her cheeks blush, like they always do when she’s embarrassed—her admission shooting straight to my heart. All this time, she’s been pretending to love this—for me. She’s made it my favorite part of the week because she cares that much.
“Oh my God, I love you.” The words slip out before I know what I’m saying. Panic surges, and my pulse spikes. Did I just screw up? I meant it, but shit, that hadn’t been part of the plan today.
But she doesn’t miss a beat—a huge grin spreads across her gorgeous lips. “I love you too.”
She leans in and kisses me, heated and urgent. My hand slips under the jersey, and before I know it, we’re naked on the couch—breathless, sweaty, snuggled under a blanket.
This has by far been the best Sunday football afternoon to date.
My fingers trail down her arm as she rests her head against my chest—and I explain the game of football to her.