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“It’s nice. What do you think, Dallas?” Justin asks, and he elbows my side.
“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Nice,” I repeat, and I wonder if I have those cartoon hearts in my eyes.
I’ve never had a woman I like wear my jersey before. Lacey doesn’t count—she was using it to get someone else’s attention.
My teammates with partners talk about how it’s such an ego boost. How they get possessive when their girl shows up and someone else tries to look at her, and I never understood why.
I get it now.
It makes me think she’smine, and I dare anyone else to try and get her attention.
Staying away from her is getting harder and harder to do. I congratulate myself whenever I make it through another day without doing something idiotic like pushing her against a wall and kissing her until morning.
Seeing her in my jersey, though, makes it difficult to remember my rules. It makes it difficult to remember why getting involved with her is a bad idea. It makes me want to sayfuck itand deal with the consequences.
Maven spins back around and grins. “Thanks, guys.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, and I pick up June. “I thought y’all would be in the suite.”
“We’ll get up there eventually. I wanted to surprise you and let you have a minute with June before the game starts, so Shawn got us field access for warmups.”
Fucking hell.
A couple of years ago, Shawn made us all take a test to learn what our love language is. He said it would be good team building and a way for us to show appreciation for each other.
I learned mine are acts of service and quality time, and the guys all made fun of me. They joked that there are plenty of places out there where I can get whatever kind of service I want.
But this is exactly the kind of gesture that sends my heart racing.
Someone showing up and doing something with me and for me. Giving up their time to do something that might seem small to them, but it’s a mountain to me.
I didn’t think holding my daughter in my arms on a football field two hours before kickoff would be the nicest thing anyone’s made happen for me, but it is.
And it’s because of her.
I cover June’s ears and exhale. “Fuck, Maven. This is?—”
“What you deserve, and what’s going to keep happening as long as I’m around.” She pulls something out of her pocket and smiles as she waves a sheet of paper in the air. “I’m getting all the guys to sign her ticket, too. I figured you could frame it and hang it in her room.”
I squeeze June to my chest and shake my head. The more she talks, the harder it gets to breathe. “She’s lucky to have you in her life. I’m lucky, too. I’m going to get you the biggest Nanny of the Year trophy for Christmas.”
“Let’s get a photo,” she says, and she slides up next to me. I drape my arm around her and she rests her head in the crook of my shoulder as she pulls out her phone. “I’ll photoshop the trophy in.”
“Say cheese, JB.”
“Cheese!” she shrieks, and Maven takes the picture of the three of us when we’re mid-laugh.
“That’s going to be a keeper,” I say.
“Without a doubt.” She tucks her phone away and looks up at me. “You know you always miss your first kick in warmups, right?”
“What?” I follow her line of sight and stare at the ball leaning against the goal post. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. You always come up short, and you favor the right side.”
“Are you watching me, Maven?”
“You warm up five feet away from where I’m doing my job,” she argues. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m watchingyou.”
