Chapter Thirteen
Todd
“What’s going on with those two?” Chase asks me while we wait for Taylor and Justin.
I fold my lips into my mouth. “No idea.”
He arches a brow, conveying he doesn’t believe me, but changes the subject nonetheless. “So when are you going to tell her about the tickets?”
That’s the million-dollar question. I was going to tell her about it last night, but then everything with Justin went down, so I planned to wait till this morning, but she woke up with barely enough time to get ready for the city league game.
“After lunch,” I say, deciding. “Take Justin and give me some time alone with her.”
Chase shoots me a thumbs-up as Taylor and Justin finish whatever it is they’re talking about, and then we head out for burgers.
I sit next to Taylor, and my stomach is in knots the entire time.
I can’t help noticing the way she keeps checking Justin out when she thinks he’s not looking—or the way he’s doing the exact same thing.
It shouldn’t bother me, but I still need to run my hands over my knees to keep my fists from clenching.
“So what do you guys want to do next?” Chase asks, breaking the tension and drawing Taylor’s and Justin’s attention from their little looks.
Taylor picks the sesame seeds off her bun. “I could do with a nap.”
“Didn’t you just wake up right before the game?” Justin asks, smirking. “Don’t tell me the infamous Taylor Coleman can’t hang with the best of ‘em.”
She rolls her eyes and, for a second, she’s herself again. “I just played eight innings and had four RBIs—I’d say I can hang just fine.”
Justin chuckles and pops a fry in his mouth, and the table falls silent again.
By the time we finish eating, the tickets are burning a hole in my pocket, so I decide I’ve waited long enough.
“Can I show you something?” I ask Taylor as everyone stands.
“Sure.” She looks at Chase and Justin. “We’ll be out in a second.”
I pull out the envelope, handing it to her.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She does, taking out the tickets and holding them as if they’re sacred relics. “How did you get these?”
My lips twitch into a smile. “My agent got them for me—some NBA team trying to impress me.”
“Whoa, the perks of potentially being the number one draft pick.” She blinks up at me, shifting her focus. “Wait—you must’ve gotten these ages ago . . . which means you planned this entire trip around these tickets.”
“Yeah—I mean, you’re the only person I could think of going with, and I wanted it to be a surprise.”
She holds the tickets between us, hands trembling slightly. “I never thought I’d get to go to the Super Bowl. It’s not even on my bucket list because it sounds too impossible.”
“Hey, if I actually become the number one draft pick, there’s likely more where this came from.”
She tucks a curl behind her ear—an old, familiar gesture, but it affects me differently now. “I can already hear Chase calling me a sellout for being your groupie.”
“He’ll just be jealous you’re reaping the benefits instead of him.”
She starts to say something, stops, then settles on, “Thank you.” And she means it, I can tell.
“We should probably get going—kickoff is at 6:30 p.m., so we should get there around three or four.”
She hands me back the tickets. “Then what are we waiting for?”