If I thought Sean’s jersey was armor, it’s nothing compared to the man himself. I feel invincible walking into the Outlaws stadium on my big, strapping husband’s arm.
The women I pass smile at me and give Sean the kind of once-over that tells me they’d look a lot longer if I weren’t here.
Sorry, suckers.
Just kidding. You’re probably wonderful and I don’t blame you for eyeing my husband, because he really is that hot.
But he’s not just hot.
Sean ismasculine. He’s burly and rugged and capable and knows how to get his hands dirty?—
Yeah, okay, he’s just hot.
And then some.
Scottie greets me in the corridor with a knowing smirk. “Boss. Mr. Boss,” she says before walking a half step ahead of us toward Aldridge’s box.
Today’s the final day of our series against the Outlaws, and it’s tied at 1-1. The Outlaws’s record is a little better than ours, a fact I care less about today than I did yesterday.
Aldridge and Gordon Voss from the league are already sitting in the middle of the box, thick as thieves, when Ronnie spots us.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Ronnie says. And then her eyes fly to Sean’s, and they travel up to him in all his six-four glory. She gives me a laugh. “Winning the breakup, indeed.” Then she waves to the photographer and has him take a few pictures of Sean and me before we’re fully in the suite.
There’s enough going on that Aldridge doesn’t turn to see us. He doesn’t catch Sean’s arm hugging my waist or my hand on Sean’s chest. And he doesn’t hear when Sean whispers in my ear.
“Is GQ throwing a sports-themed party, or does he think this is what an actual stadium looks like?”
I give a throaty laugh, leaning in to Sean, who’s leaning into me. I’m vaguely aware of Ronnie and the photographer, but unlike the million times I did things like this with Aldridge, I don’t care. Not about my angles or my outfit, not about if my hair looks weird or I have a double chin from laughing.
I don’t care.
“Be nice,” I say.
“No, I don’t think I will,” he says, his voice sounding as gruff as sandpaper. Except delicious. His brother has a famous singing voice; I don’t know why I’m surprised that Sean’s is as appealing as it is. “Incoming.”
I pull my face from Sean’s in time to see Aldridge staring at us, wearing a mask of politeness and class that’s almost convincing.
“This must be the famous Sean O’Shannan,” Aldridge says, extending a manicured hand to Sean. “Aldridge Sinclair.”
Sean’s arm is still around my waist, but it doesn’t tighten or tense at Aldridge’s introduction. He seems too comfortable inhis own skin to worry about the kind of guy who would turn a sports stadium into …this.
And now that I look at it through Sean’s eyes, I kind of agree.
Yes, every wall and light fixture could be taken from a design book, but the place lacks substance. It doesn’t have the same grit or soul that the Mudflaps’ stadium has. Veneers are pretty, but they lack bite.
Sean shakes Aldridge’s hand, and there’s no hint of sizing the smaller man up. But Aldridge is studying Sean, as well as our body language. Can he tell how much more comfortable I am with Sean’s arm around me than I ever was hanging on his? Has he ever heard me take such a deep breath before?
“Good to meet you, Aldridge,” Sean says.
They shake hands for a moment too long, and then Aldridge returns his eyes to mine. “I have to say, I was surprised when I first heard you got married. But I get it now.”
“We all get it now,” Scottie mutters to Ronnie, and I can feel Sean’s stomach tighten as he internalizes a laugh. The tips of Aldridge’s ears go red, but there’s no other sign he even heard my assistant.
“Yup. This is what happy looks like,” I tell him.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.”
“Aldridge, you’re embarrassing yourself.”
