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She nods, signing yes too quickly for my liking.
“What do you think Greyson?”
Blaine’s voice draws my attention to him.
“What was that?” I ask.
“The bowl? I think y’all are in this next season.”
“That’s the plan.” I shrug.
Isn’t it always?
“You’re a hoss. Four thousand and forty-eight rushing yards last season.” He shakes his head and places his arm behind Tilly on her chair. “That game against the Dolphins was epic.”
“Four thousand and fifty-eight.” A voice interrupts.
I pause, flicking my gaze over to Tilly.
“What?" Blaine chuckles.
“He had four thousand and fifty-eight rushing yards,” she corrects.
That’s my girl.
“Same thing,” he mutters. "That win was by a hair though.” He whistles. “You almost didn’t make that last touch down. Got a little too confident, yeah?” He barks out a laugh.
This fool looks like the only game he’s ever played is croquet.
“I did my job.” I gulp the last of whatever is in my glass and drop it back to the table.
“Still…” He runs his hand up over Tilly’s shoulder and I can’t help but let my eyes catch the movement.
He doesn’t miss the fact I noticed and judging by the smirk on his face, he knows I don’t fucking like it.
“He actually ran the route perfect. If Baxter would have blocked like he was supposed to, Krew wouldn’t have rushed the pass. It was a sheer miracle Grey even caught it and then he ran a thirty-seven-yard touchdown,” Tilly interjects.
The table goes silent and so does Blaine.
My eyes meet hers and she blushes before snatching up her drink. I watch her throat work as she takes in the liquid. I wonder what the skin there would taste like? I wonder what she would taste like?
My eyes never leave hers as Blaine mumbles something in her ear before he’s on his feet, guiding his parents away from the table.
Call me cliché, but I’m now internally beating my chest like some possessive caveman. She once told me she doesn’t watch football.
Looks like my Rosie is a dirty little liar.
Apparently spending the evening watching the woman I love get shit on by her future husband and in-laws wasn’t enough. My phone pings with and message.
Krew: hey man, May tried to squash this one quick, but it’s spreading like wildfire. Just a heads up.
I click on the link that leads to an article.
NFL player Greyson Roy’s father pressing criminal charges.
Bastard.
Me: thanks. I appreciate it.
