The field itself looked more like a three-ring circus than a place where a football game was about to take place—a temporary stage where the national anthem would be sung, a group of veterans standing by for the coin toss, a pack of kids dressed in the jersey of their favorite NFL players, and enough members of the press to fill an entire section of the stands. No one seemed immune to the excitement. Even the celebrities who mingled on the sidelines wearing large hologrammed badges around their necks—superstars who would normally command their own red carpet—stood just was awestruck as the group of fans who’d won a contest hosted by the game’s biggest sponsor.
She’d barely had a chance to take it all in when the announcers directed everyone’s attention to the far-right corner of the stadium where the NFC Champions were about to take the field. Balloon arches and yards of billowing fabric stretched from the tunnel to the turf, where cheerleaders in white, knee-high boots shook metallic pom-poms in the air. The thumping beat of the team’s signature entrance song was nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd as fireworks shot up from what looked like the world’s largest Roman candle. Servicemen and women ran through a fog of smoke, each waving an American flag, followed by gymnasts waving banners.
And then she saw him.
It had been a week since he’d left for Miami, and the sight of him now, jogging onto the field in full uniform with his teammates at his side, was enough to take her breath away. Even after all these months, she was still knocked on her ass—thankfully, not literally this time—the same as she had been that day in the park. In a million years, she could have never imagined herself falling for a jock, or that the NFL’s Most Valuable Player would have fallen for a self-proclaimed nerd who didn’t know the first thing about football. But in the end, they were so much more than what the outside world saw. They were simply Brody and Rebecca, two people who’d fallen madly and deeply in love.
As the team approached, Brody broke away from the pack, letting the other players continue to the sidelines without him. Instead, he headed straight to where Rebecca stood waiting. The cameras were waiting too. Dozens of them. She’d grown used to the cameraman who filmed their private moment at home games, but this was next level. This time, there were two cameramen with video equipment hoisted on their shoulders, each surrounded by enough still cameras to cover any Hollywood premiere, all waiting to capture the moment Brody Dixon swooped in for a good luck kiss with the woman he’d chosen over any American Sweetheart.
He pulled off his helmet as he grew closer, sending a shiver racing down her spine. God, she loved that face. But more than that, she loved the man. His heart, his humor, his mind.
She’d expected him to look tense. After all, this was about as big as it got in his world. But instead, he seemed relaxed, confident, and quite frankly, ready to kick some serious ass.
The press cleared a path as she approached, then closed into a circle around them.
Brody took her in his arms. “Hey you,’” he whispered. There was darkness in his eyes, a hungry gleam she’d come to know quite well, and all at once Rebecca knew this wasn’t going to be some simple peck on the lips. Her breath left her in a rush as he banded an arm around her waist, pulling her as close as the pads would allow, before claiming her mouth with a deep, searing kiss.
The crowd behind them went wild, clapping their hands and stomping their feet against the metal bleachers. Cameras whirled and flashed. Fans hooted and hollered. But all of it sounded muffled, as though they were underwater, because in that moment, nothing else mattered. She was with the man she loved in their own little cocoon.
Then his lips left hers, and it was as though someone cranked the volume back up to ten. The cocoon vanished like fog, leaving behind their strange and sometimes overwhelming reality.
“You’re blushing,” he said.
Instinctively, Rebecca looked down and away. “You know I hate all this attention.”
Brody slipped a finger under her chin, tilting her face until her eyes met his. “I don’t hear a thing.” He smiled as though he’d already won the game. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s just you and me.”
And it was.
Forever.
THE END
About the Author
Ann Marie Walker writes steamy books about sexy boys. She’s a fan of fancy cocktails, anything chocolate, and 80s rom-coms. Her superpower is connecting any situation to an episode of Friends and she thinks all coffee cups should be the size of a bowl. If it’s December she can be found watching Love Actually but the rest of the year you can find her at AnnMarieWalker.com where she would be happy to talk to you about alpha males, lemon drop martinis or supermodel David Gandy. Ann Marie attended the University of Notre Dame and currently lives in Chicago.
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