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The game is more fun than I imagined it would be. I’ve only watched football games in passing on the TVs at the bar where I worked back in Boston. Being at one in person has a whole different energy to it.
I find myself really getting into it, screaming at the top of my lungs every time one of our players has the ball. Especially any time that Keanen touches it.
Watching him on the field is like watching a whole new side to him. He’s his same confident, cool, collected self as ever. But the things he can do with that ball—the way he always seems to know exactly where to throw it in order to connect with just the right player to rush through our opponent’s offense… It’s impressive as hell.
Not to mention sexy.
He pulls off a particularly wild pass, across half the length of the whole football field, to one of the players behind enemy lines already. Our guy catches it, and we all go wild, leaping to our feet, stomping and cheering, because the other team doesn’t have any defensemen within miles.
The rest of the school watches the guy with the ball books it for the end zone. But my eyes linger on Keanen. And I notice him doing the same—looking away from his teammate to scan the stands.
I jump up and down, waving with both arms. One row of bleachers down and a couple seats over, I notice Bette doing the same. We catch each other’s eyes and flash each other quick smiles and nods, before we go back to waving.
Keanen’s eyes catch mine first, then his sister’s. When he looks back at me, his smile widens about a million watts at once. He flashes us both a quick thumbs up, and then he turns to race up the field, because his teammate just ran the ball into the end zone, and all the players are clustering up, chanting and surrounding the guy who scored.
Then they line up across from one another again, and I prepare myself for more screaming myself hoarse.
By the end of the game, my throat aches, and my legs are sore from all the jumping on and off the bleachers. But I’m riding higher than I’ve felt in a long time, surrounded by classmates—by new potential friends, maybe?—and about to run down into the arms of the first person on campus to fully embrace me for who I am. To make me feel seen, protected, safe, in this unfamiliar and at times hostile place.
The buzzer sounds to end the game, but it’s hardly necessary–the score is a total blow out. Thanks in no small part to Keanen and that killer arm of his.
I watch all the guys on the team congratulating him as they huddle up, slapping his back, shaking hands.
I notice more than a few of the cheerleaders on the sidelines checking him out, too, but it only makes my grin widen. Because I know he’s all mine.
By the time I reach the fence at the bottom of the stands, Keanen has finally managed to extricate himself from the huddle of guys around him. He strides across the field, locking eyes with me as he walks. I’m not sure what to expect. We’ve not exactly hidden our status since that night in the chancellor’s office, since all of my other secrets came spilling out all over campus, but neither of us are big PDA people, and although we’ve held hands on campus, we haven’t done much more.
But with every stride he takes toward me, my chest swells more, my throat tightening. Because I recognize the look in his eyes.
He reaches me, and damn the waist high fence between us. But he doesn’t seem to care. He catches my face in both hands and pulls me into a kiss, right there on the field, with the whole school watching. I hear a ragged cheer somewhere behind us, but I don’t care.
I reach up and wrap both arms around his neck, as he shifts, his lips parting mine, his tongue tracing a familiar path across my lips, my teeth, my tongue.
He smells like sweat and grass and victory, but he tastes the way he always does, like molasses or honey, sweet and heady enough to make my breath catch and my knees go weak.
When he breaks away to take a breath, I seriously have to catch mine, leaning against him for support, wishing I could make the fence between us vanish, because—
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, his gaze searching mine, those deep, dark brown eyes of his just inches from my gaze.
I laugh. When he doesn’t join in, I raise an eyebrow, and reach down to press my palm flat against his chest. “Don’t you need to stay and celebrate with your team?”
