5. First and Goal
5
Hadley
This is not the first time I’ve been to a Bandits game. Hell, I went to several last season where Riggs got Tessa, Skye, Roxy, and I sideline passes to go stand down on the field. But for some reason, this game feels different.
I don’t know if it’s because it’s the season opener, because the Bandits are the reigning champions, or because Foster McKenna is currently living under my roof, but this place is filled with an electric energy I can’t begin to describe.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Maybe I’m the thing that’s different. I feel like I actually have a vested interest even though my rational brain is telling me that’s ridiculous.
Foster is a guest in my place of business. Nothing more.
But when he runs out onto that field and lines up, my heart starts to rattle in my chest. The ball is hiked into Riggs’ waiting hands, and I watch with bated breath as he backpedals then lets the ball fly. My eyes track its movement, then I shout with the rest of the crowd as it lands safely in Foster’s arms.
He takes off toward the end zone, and I hold my breath, but it whooshes out of me when a defensive player from the opposing team jumps on him and flattens him to the ground. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I mouth “please, please, please,” until Foster pushes himself to his feet. Tossing the ball to a nearby referee, he jogs over to where Riggs and the rest of the offense are huddled up, ready to discuss the next play.
Relief courses through me as a voice booms over the sound system.
“And McKenna gets the first down. It’s first and goal, folks, and the Bandits look ready to score.”
The offense lines up again, and the entire stadium seems to swell with anticipation. This is it. The clock is winding down, and the Bandits are down by three. If they score here, they win.
Arms wrap around me in a vise-like grip, and I look over to see Tessa mouthing a silent prayer as her entire body shakes. She’s always been a football lover, but now that she’s engaged to a player––the quarterback, no less––the stakes are even higher for her.
Would I feel that intensity for the game if Foster and I got together?
“Stop it, Hadley,” I murmur under my breath.
The mere idea is preposterous.
I’ve proven I can’t act like a normal human being around him since he moved into the B&B. Why would he ever want to get with me? Simple answer? He wouldn’t.
A whistle blows, and Riggs shouts a series of words that sound like nonsense. My eyes track Foster’s movement after the ball is hiked, and I watch him weave around a defender and run into the end zone. A loud buzzer sounds, marking the end of the game, but the Bandits are allowed to finish the play. A split second later, the ball flies out of Riggs’ hand, then slams into Foster’s chest. He wraps his arms around it, and the stadium erupts into chaos. Foster spikes the ball into the ground, then disappears from view as his teammates swarm him, hugging and ass-slapping and chest bumping as they celebrate.
“We won!” Tessa shouts in my ear, hugging me tighter and forcing me to jump up and down with her.
Skye and Roxy join in, making it a group hug, and even Skye, who has less of an interest in the game than me, gets caught up in the excitement. Once we calm down, we make our way from our seats. Tessa uses the special pass Riggs gave her to get us into the players’ private parking lot, and we settle on the tailgate of Riggs’ truck to wait for them to finish their team meeting and post-game interviews, and for them to shower and change and meet us out here.
We have plans to go out tonight, our first big group hangout since Foster moved in a week and a half ago. And though we’ve fallen into a bit of a rhythm at home, things between Foster and I still feel…off.
I’m hoping a few drinks and safety in numbers will help me relax, and we can manage to get back to that easy rapport we had when we first met. Before I developed this stupid crush and admitted my deepest, darkest secret to my friends.
Having my virginal state pushed out in the open like that made it seem like a much bigger deal than before. The shocked look on my friends’ faces is forever imprinted on my brain. I can’t pretend like it’s not true, or that it doesn’t matter anymore.
I suppose in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter to anyone but me. The girls don’t look at me any differently. Not that I can tell, anyway.
But saying the words out loud broke something in me, and I want to rectify that part of my life as soon as possible.
And I want to rectify it with Foster McKenna.
As if the mere thought of him conjured his presence, the door to the locker room swings open, and the man, himself, steps out into the warm night air. The girls’ voices fade away as I watch him walk across the lot. He lifts a hand, running it through still-damp hair, and my tongue darts out to wet my suddenly dry lips.
If this were a romcom movie, the whole scene would be moving in slow motion while a Marvin Gaye song drowned out every sound but the pounding of my heart and the gust of breath between my parted lips.
“Hadley.”
The music in my head screeches into silence as my entire body jolts. “What?”
Roxy, who’d spoken, arches an auburn brow at me at the sharp, punctuated exclamation. “You okay? We lost you there for a minute.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Skye beats me to it. “Oh, I see the problem.”
The other two follow her line of sight, their smiles growing wider when they see Foster walking toward us. Skye snickers, but before any of them can comment on my obvious fascination with the man, the door opens again, and Riggs and Miles walk out, followed closely behind by Porter.
Roxy and Tessa hop off the tailgate with whoops of joy, splitting apart to rush around Foster before jumping up into their men’s arms in tandem like a pair of synchronized swimmers. Miles and Riggs drop their duffel bags to catch the girls, and the couples start making out a little too enthusiastically for the public space. I avert my eyes, and they just so happen to land on a pair of bright blue ones.
“Hey,” Foster says as he approaches, stopping before me.
“Hey,” I parrot back, then clear my throat. “Great game out there.”
“Thanks,” he says softly, and the truck bounces as Skye hops off to land on her feet.
“Nice catch, stud,” she says to him with a wink, then saunters over to talk to Porter by his car.
I half-expect him to watch her go, but he simply mumbles a word of gratitude while keeping his gaze locked on mine. My skin grows hot and itchy, and I send up a silent prayer of thanks for the night sky and the fact that Riggs’ truck isn’t parked directly beneath one of the bright security lights.
“My car is over there,” Foster says, jerking his head to the right. “Do you want to ride with me back to Sublime?”
We made plans to all meet at Blue Skye’s, our usual hangout. It’s a little dive bar on the edge of town, and Skye owns the place, so we get to drink for free. Plus, it gives us a place to hang out with her when she has to work, which is most Friday and Saturday nights. The bar closes at ten on Sundays, so when we get there, it’ll be empty. The guys can relax and celebrate their win without a constant barrage of fans approaching them and asking for pictures and autographs.
“Sure,” I say after swallowing the lump in my throat.
I move to slide off the tailgate, but before I can shimmy forward, Foster drops his bag and wraps his hands around my waist. He plucks me up like I weigh nothing and sets me on my feet in front of him.
“Th-thanks,” I stutter when he keeps his hands on me a few beats longer than necessary.
His intense blue eyes bore into me as he releases me without a word, picks up his bag, and holds his free arm toward his car, inviting me to precede him. I hear Skye yell something at the other girls about getting a room before Tessa’s laugh rings out, but I don’t look back.
I keep my eyes locked on Foster’s dusky gray Camaro and will myself to act normal once I’m locked in the car with him. I feel his hand press against my lower back as we head around to the passenger side, and his breath brushes over my skin as he leans forward to open the door for me.
How in all that is holy am I supposed to act normal under these circumstances?
He’s seducing me without even trying. He’s literally just being a gentleman. A kind man who knows how to treat a woman with respect while simultaneously looking like he wants to bend her over a table and make her scream.
And my inner hoochie, the part of me that’s never been released before, is busting out of her cage, dancing a jig, and ordering me to climb this man like a tree.
I shove her back down, locking her away as I climb into the car and breathlessly thank Foster before he closes the door behind me. I quickly rub my sweaty palms on my jeans as he walks behind the car. Opening the trunk, he tosses his bag inside before slamming it shut. A second later, his door is swinging open, and he’s climbing in behind the wheel.
I somehow manage to make small talk as we head toward Sublime. My heart settles into a normal rhythm as the highway stretches out before us, the sound of Foster’s voice as he talks about the game soothing my frayed nerves.
Then I catch sight of his fingers flexing around the gear shift between us, and my composure takes flight as I imagine him reaching over to squeeze my thigh with that large vein-lined hand. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“You okay?” he asks, and my eyes pop open as my head jerks to the left.
“What? Yes. I mean, yeah. Yeah. I’m fine.”
One corner of his mouth quirks up. “You seem fine.”
The sarcasm in his voice settles me like nothing else could. I think I’ve made it pretty obvious he rattles me despite my best efforts to hide it, and rather than point out the obvious, he’s using humor to help me relax.
My own lips tilt up, and I nod. “I’m fine.”
“That’s better,” he murmurs, moving his eyes back to the road.
He reaches out to turn up the volume on the radio, and we drive the rest of the way in companionable silence. After pulling into the lot in front of Blue Skye’s, Foster turns off the car and hops out, rushing around the hood to open my door for me.
“Somebody’s mom taught him manners,” I tease as he closes the door behind me.
He stiffens for an instant, then relaxes so quickly, I’m not sure if I’ve imagined it or not. I open my mouth to say something––I’m not sure what––but the moment is broken when Riggs’ truck, Miles’ Jeep, Porter’s motorcycle, and Skye’s car pull into the lot like a parade.
We wait in silence for Skye to unlock the bar and let us in, then we crowd over to the bar while she slips behind it and starts taking orders. After handing each of the guys a beer, she blends up a pitcher of margaritas for the rest of us. Filling four glasses, she passes them out and holds her own up in the air.
I lift mine, saying, “To life’s pleasures.”
“To life’s joys,” Tessa adds, holding her own glass high.
“To lots of sex,” Roxy says, shooting a wink at Miles.
“With big, strong boys!” Skye finishes, and we all drink.
“Whatever that was, I like it,” Porter says, waggling his eyebrows at Skye.
She holds up a palm, blowing off his flirtation, saying, “It’s tradition.”
I can feel Foster’s eyes on me, but I’m pretty sure it’s the tequila making my skin feel hot. Yeah. That’s it. The tequila.
I take another long draw from my glass, praying I don’t get a case of brain-freeze. The liquid goes down smooth and easy with no unwanted consequences, so I turn the glass up again and finish it off with a third long drink.
Skye arches a brow at me, but doesn’t comment. Like the good friend she is, she simply picks up the pitcher and refills my glass before setting about mixing up another batch. We all move to a large table, and Riggs pulls Tessa down into his lap before Miles follows suit with Roxy. The rest of us sit in the other four chairs, and I sip my drink as the conversation flows freely around me.
An hour passes, and I’m four margaritas deep when Tessa calls it, eager to get her man home. Roxy hops up from Miles’ lap, then bends over to kiss him before whispering something into his ear. He shoots to his feet and takes her hand.
“Well, people, it’s been fun. Thanks for the drinks, Skye.”
He’s dragging his fiancée toward the door before she can say a word, and her laughter trails behind her as the door swings closed behind them. Skye starts to clean up, and Porter hops to his feet to help.
“You ready?”
My head spins, and my vision swims as I look over at Foster––or Fosters, if I’m being honest, since there are currently three of him. I give him a wide grin and nod. I try to stand, but my ass hits the chair, hard, when the room dips and twists, and I lose my balance.
“Whoa, there,” he says, reaching out to clutch my arm in a gentle grip. “Let me help you.”
“Okay, stud,” I slur, mimicking the nickname Skye used earlier.
I think I must’ve blacked out for a minute, because the next thing I know, Foster is coaxing me out of his car. I blink open my eyes and see the B&B wavering in my vision as Foster curls an arm around my waist and helps me toward the front porch.
“We’re home!” I exclaim, and his deep chuckle rings in my ears. I lean into him, saying, “I like your laugh.”
“Thanks,” he says, finding the key I’d given him for the duration of his stay on his keyring and unlocking the door. “I like your laugh, too.”
“You do?” I ask, filled with wonder as he basically carries me inside.
“I do,” he confirms, closing and locking the door behind us.
“What else do you like about me?” pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.
But I don’t take it back. I want to know, and this seems like the perfect moment to find out.
“You’re drunk,” he says with another chuckle, and my head wobbles as I try to shake it.
“No changing the subject,” I slur as he helps me up the stairs.
“Okay,” he says. “I like how sweet you are. Your kindness is like a bright light in the darkness. And I like your pretty smile.”
“You think I’m pretty?” I ask, my inhibitions washed away by tequila and bad decisions.
“You are pretty,” Foster says as he leads me into my room and toward my bed.
“I’m not,” I say with a pout, falling over onto the bed and rolling onto my back. “If I was pretty, I wouldn’t be a spinster.”
Foster pulls off my shoes and lays a blanket over me as he says, “You are pretty, and you’re not old enough to be a spinster. No one even uses that word anymore, Hadley.”
“Well,” I say snuggling into the blanket as the sweet oblivion of sleep starts to overtake me, “I may not be old enough to be a spinster, but I’m definitely too old to still be a virgin.”