There was music. And people cheering. Men stretching on the field in really tight pants. And I was frozen in the tunnel that led out to the field.
“You can do it, Allie.”
I pinched my eyes shut and gripped Joy’s hand. Her knuckles were large from some arthritis she said didn’t bother her much. “Why does this feel so important?”
At her soft laugh, I finally opened my eyes. Would she think it was weird if I held her hand all the way out onto midfield? Probably.
This was freaking ridiculous. I knew it. When Joy and I talked about the regular season, she told me all about my father’s rituals on game day. He walked the field while the team warmed up, speaking to each one. Once he’d done that, he retreated to his box, where he watched the entire game before heading home to eat some cherry chocolate chip ice cream, win or lose. Before his departure for frozen dairy, he’d visit the locker room to provide encouragement if they lost and join in the celebration if they won.
I’d made it through preseason, two losses and one win, but I’d stayed in my owner’s box for each one, just trying to make it through each game without asking stupid questions.
But this … everything was bigger and louder. There was a crackle in the air that lifted the hair on my arms, a churning, fast energy from the fans in the stands, already in their seats early just to catch a glimpse of the players as they warmed up.
“It feels important because it counts now, sweetie,” she said, squeezing my fingers. “You go on out there and talk to your guys. You know all their names. I’d wager you know all their wive’s and girlfriend’s names, too.”
I sure as hell did. That binder was worn from me studying it during the preseason.
I turned to her, taking her other small hand in mine. “How do I look?”
She smiled, then gave me a decisive nod. “Like a boss bitch.”
My laugh was loud and decidedly unfeminine. “Thank you.”
For as much as I’d love the looks we chose for the photo shoot, I went far more severe for the first game. It was away, so we’d flown out as a team a couple of days earlier, and I wanted to fade into the background as much as possible tonight.
Tonight, it was about the team. Everything was on their broad shoulders. My hair was slicked back in a low ponytail, my lips bare, my feet clad in flats. My jeans were dark and fitted, and the shirt I’d picked from the pro shop was bright white with a small Wolves logo on a tiny pocket over my right breast. It was simple, and I loved it.
My father maybe would’ve worn a suit, but this was me. I needed to figure out how I would do things. Which was why I let go of Joy’s wrinkled hands and walked out onto the field with my chin lifted. Behind a few paces were two nondescript security guards with no necks and massive arms, a precaution that Cameron insisted on for our first regular season game, especially since we weren’t at home.
So far, they’d shadowed me in a way where I didn’t notice them. But out on the field, I was grateful for their presence. Phones lifted immediately as I started walking down the line of our defensive lineman stretching out their tree trunk legs. A couple of fans shouted my name, and I gave them a smile even though they were wearing the home team jerseys and not ours.
Dayvon, one of the captains I’d met on the first day, stood from a stretch and held out a meaty fist. I tapped it with my own.
“How you doin’ tonight, Miss Allie?”
I held my hand over my stomach. “Nervous. Is that normal?”
He laughed, and the sound was so warm that I found myself relaxing. “If you weren’t a little nervous, I’d wonder about you.”
With wide eyes, I stayed next to him and surveyed the massive field. Players ran drills, did stretches, laughed, and talked with opposing players and coaches. At midfield, standing tall on the bright green grass like a Greek god, was Luke. He dropped back and launched the ball down the field into the waiting arms of one of the tight ends. It was so effortless. So … beautiful. He nodded and motioned for another go.
I hadn’t seen him since the photo shoot. Watching him in this arena, the place he stepped up and became the leader, I had to fight the urge to lay my hand on my stomach again. He looked larger than life. Strong and fast. Sure in his actions. It was humbling to know how very out of place I was among them, but they were welcoming me anyway.
Maybe that was how Luke felt walking into the photo shoot. Oh, his face. Very little could have prepared me for the exact moment when we locked eyes from across that sprawling space. Whatever seed had been planted the night I freaked the hell out on his back porch had unfurled into something … something that made me feel crazy when he was around me.
It was the tension snapping and vibrating between us, held aloft by the air, by his eyes on me.
With two strong hands, I shoved that out of my head, because this was not.the.place to be thinking about hot, tension-y things in regards to Luke Pierson.
After forcing a smile on my face, I made my way through the rows of players, all of whom seemed loose, happy, and relaxed despite the massive season they were about to undertake. Sixteen weeks of physically grueling work, even more mental prep, and possibly more if we made the playoffs. It was a small thing for me to make sure they saw my face each week and knew that I was paying attention to how hard they were working. Maybe that was why my father had done it. To remind them that he was paying attention.
It was enough to make me pause somewhere around the forty-yard line.
Had he done that with me? Had I even noticed?
Someone said my name again, and I looked into the stands to see three little girls holding up a sign, Wolves jerseys covering their bodies. The sign said We’re Team Sutton.
With a hand over my heart, I made my over to where they were leaning over the railing. The security guards maintained a respectful distance when the girls handed me a bright pink marker so I could sign their programs.
“Oh, thank you,” one said in a shocked whisper.
“You’re so pretty,” said another.
“Enjoy the game, girls.” I waved at them after I’d signed all their stuff, and the sweet giggles that followed me as I walked away were enough to make any bullshit I’d gone through worth it. The distraction was enough that I realized I’d missed the last handful of our team before they ran off to head back to the locker room, Luke included.
Maybe I was a chicken, but I let out a deep sigh of relief and made my way up to the owner’s box.
When I walked into the locker room, the celebratory sounds were deafening.
Dayvon scooped me up in his arms, whooping and yelling. I could barely catch my breath from laughing, and my face hurt from smiling. Playing a division rival on their home turf had been a horrible game to watch. Horrible for me because it was so close. Back and forth, the entire game, the two teams had stayed within one touchdown of each other.
With thirty-two seconds to go and down by three points, Luke had thrown a bomb down the field into the waiting hands of Jack, who evaded four defenders to run it in for a touchdown. My entire suite had erupted as well as the Wolves fans we had in the away stands, and watching the guys tackle each other on the field, I thought my face might split open from smiling.
During the entire walk down to the locker room, I felt very much like a bottle of champagne that had been violently shaken and only had one flimsy cork holding all the bubbles at bay. Joy was at my side, chattering happily about tackles and screens and play action, and all I could do was beam at every person we passed.
But that feeling was nothing compared to the explosion of the locker room.
It was addictive. Their happiness, the effervescent, powerful force was a high like I’d never known.
“Miss Sutton,” Jack yelled from where he stood on a bench in our locker room. “We fuckin’ did it!”
Dayvon set me down, slinging a heavy arm around my shoulder. It was then that I realized just how sweaty and smelly the locker room was. How sweaty and smelly every single guy in that room was. I gave him a smile and ducked out from under his arm just as Coach Klein stood in the middle of the locker room and motioned for silence. In his hands, he held a ball.
“All right,” he yelled when a few players in the back were still whooping. “Great game, guys. You looked sharp, you looked fast, you looked hungry.” More cheers and happy cursing, if there was such a thing. “But I’m most proud of much you looked like a unit. A team. No one man more important the others, right?”
From my perch against a steel beam, I crossed my arms and watched the sweaty, smiling faces around me. This was their church, I thought. For them, this was a spiritual experience. Taking all the things they’d practiced and executing them so efficiently that they emerged the victor. It rolled through the space like a spirit, and I breathed it in, regardless of the smell that came with.
Was it possible that I’d found my place among men such as this? One game probably wasn’t enough to be able to tell, but a comfort seeped through me at that moment, something I’d never experienced before, and I wanted to grab it with both hands and hold tight with all my strength.
Coach lifted the ball, and everyone went quiet again. “The first game ball is an important one, isn’t it?”
There were murmurs of agreement, everyone shifting in place as if they were too jacked up to stop moving. It was something I could understand as my fingers tapped along my arm of their own volition.
Klein held up a hand again, smiling now like I hadn’t seen him smile once on the sidelines. “Pierson, get your ass up here.”
Cheers went up as he made his way from the back. I tilted my head to watch him, my skin tightening at the mess of his hair, the tight white shirt pasted to his body with sweat, the grooves and curves of his muscles stark against the material.
He stopped next to Coach, hands propped on his hips, and a small smile on his handsome face. Underneath his eyes was that black stuff that I still didn’t understand. He looked like he’d fought a battle—dirty and exhausted and happy. And … hot. Okay, he looked hot. And sweaty. And hot.
With muscles. Sweaty, tattooed muscles.
Damn it, Allie, I hissed in my head. Mental slap completed, I took a deep breath and focused on Coach again.
“This job never gets easier, but today, you made it look pretty damn easy.”
Luke grinned, and my breath snapped to a stop in my throat.
Coach handed him the ball, and he held it up to the roar of cheers from his teammates. Then his eyes found mine. Desperately, I fought for the same happy smile that I’d given to Dayvon and to Jack. To the rest of the men in the room.
But I couldn’t move my lips. It was all I could do to fight against the blooming ache in my chest when he stared at me like that. It was the same way he’d stared at me during the photo shoot. Except now we were surrounded by dozens of people who would read that … tension differently.
With more willpower than I thought I had at my disposal, I pulled my eyes away and talked briefly to Joy.
“We best be on our way, sweetie,” she spoke loudly into my ear. “They’re about to get naked, and I think my ticker would give out if I witnessed that.”
I laughed, putting an arm around her shoulder.
Joy and I, followed by my nice security guys who’d waited outside the locker room, helped us navigate past some journalists who shouted questions. Because I wanted the focus to be the team, I waved and smiled but didn’t answer anything. For now.
“So what happens after the game?” I asked Joy as we walked to where a driver was waiting to take us back to the hotel, which was about a ten-minute drive through downtown Houston.
“Some guys go out to dinner with their families, and some get their treatments, massage or chiro or acupuncture and relax until they can go to bed. But late afternoon games like this, usually you find some at the bar at the hotel if their families aren’t here.”
The leather seats of the car gave my fingers a new place to tap, and Joy noticed with a wry smile.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not usually so fidgety.”
She patted my hand and closed her eyes as she leaned her head back against the seat. “It’s okay. It’s exciting.”
The car pulled up underneath the large overhang of the hotel, and the driver emerged to open the door for us with a deferential tap to his black hat. I smiled at him and waited for Joy before walking through the marble and glass lobby. No one looked twice at us, and before she exited the elevator on her floor, she gave me a soft pat on my cheek.
“Proud of you, sweetie. You did well today.”
“Oh, I didn’t do anything, but thank you.”
Joy shook her head. “You’ll see how wrong you are by the end of the season. I think it’s going to be a good one.”
On the quiet elevator ride up the next two floors, I thought about her words, rolling my neck against the constant hum of energy still thick in my veins.
The only sound in my room was the air conditioner, and as I sat on the edge of the king bed, white duvet cover neatly folded and white pillows perfectly placed, I knew I couldn’t stay in my room all night.
Five minutes later, I found myself in the empty hotel gym, earbuds blasting G-Eazy and Halsey while I jogged on the treadmill. I made it a few miles before a stitch in my side forced me to slow, and my phone started acting wonky, leaving me without music. I used my towel to dab at my neck. In the wall of mirrors, I studied my reflection, wondering what people thought when they saw me now. The perception of me, with one title, had inevitably shifted.
Through nothing I’d done, I was now something more powerful than I’d been a month ago. It wasn’t about the money either, because I’d had money before my father passed away. People treated you differently when you were wealthy, of course. But this was something else.
I looked the same. But I didn’t feel the same.
Turning slightly, I studied my black leggings-covered legs that worked just as well as they had before. My white tank and pink sports bra were nondescript, my ponytail high on the top of my head. So why did I look different in my own eyes? Were the perceptions of others that powerful that they could change my perception of myself?
“You need a drink,” I said out loud.
But since the gym was still blessedly empty, I laid on one of the mats and did some crunches and squats, and some light weight work for my arms. An hour and a half after I’d walked through the glass doors, I got back in the elevator and took a long draw from my water bottle.
I punched the button for the twentieth floor and sank against the wall. Just as the doors were about to shut, a hand shot out and stopped them.
The hand attached to Luke Pierson’s tattooed arm.
His head snapped back when he saw me in the corner.
“Oh, hey.”
I smiled. “Hey. Great game today.”
His eyes started at my mouth and moved slowly as if he didn’t care that I was two feet away from him and could clearly see all the places he was looking. And he looked. Luke Pierson was doing some intentional looking. Down the line of my neck, the V of my sports bra, over my simple black leggings and then back up. His dark eyebrows bent in confusion. Or pain.
I chose confusion.
“I felt like I’d go crazy if I didn’t get some energy out,” I explained.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes locked in on my mouth. “I get that feeling after a game too.”
Just as the doors almost closed, a young woman yelled out to hold the door. I leaned forward to hit the button, and Luke shifted backward as one, two, three, then four, five, and six teenage girls piled in.
They were giggling and laughing, chattering happily, and completely unaware that Luke Pierson was sharing an elevator with them.
He stood next to me, his arm brushing mine with every deep inhale that expanded his broad chest. I shifted next to him, raising a hand to dab at the sweat still gathered along my collarbone. His chin dropped to his chest, and I noticed him close his eyes.
Air left my nose in a hard puff, and he cut a look over to me.
One of the girls laughed so hard that she pitched sideways, causing Luke to jolt into me. To steady himself, he grabbed the railing along the back of the elevator. His fingers, tight to the metal, pressed against my lower back when I found my original spot.
Through my shirt, I could feel his knuckles, and I didn’t move forward. He didn’t move his hand. Except then he did. He pushed it over a few inches so that the length of his arm was across my back.
If I turned to the side, he’d have his arm around me.
At the fifteenth floor, they exited in a loud rush of giggles, some glancing back at us with flushed, excited cheeks.
Once they were out, Luke pulled his arm away, allowing a few inches between us.
I turned my head to the side to look at him, and his eyes were on my face.
Okay, if this went on much longer—this limited, full of subtext speaking, the small touches that clearly were not accidental, the bonfire hot eye contact—I would combust. My heart would ooze out of my chest because his stupid sexy laser eyes were turning my bones into gelatin.
“What floor?” I asked when he still hadn’t moved.
Luke blinked, and I swear, my heart matched the quick movements. The air felt heavy and thick, and I licked my lips to see if I could taste it.
He was staring at the circular buttons, the number twenty lit up like an emergency beacon.
“You never hit a button,” I explained when he still didn’t answer.
“Same as you.”
“Oh,” I whispered. Why was I whispering? “Good.”
The doors shut, locking us in together.
Good. Excellent.
