Instead, I’m watching him run his hand through his silver hair for the fifteenth time and wondering what it would feel like to do that myself. To grip that hair while his head is between my…
STOP!
I shift in my seat, crossing my legs. My body is not cooperating. There’s a steady pulse between my thighs that’s been building from the moment I spotted Levi on the field, and it’s getting harder to ignore.
You are in public, Lina Kane. There are cameras. FUCKING GET IT TOGETHER!
Someone scores. The crowd erupts. I clap and cheer on autopilot, having no idea what just happened.
Simone leans over. “That’s one-zero U.S., ma’am. Our goal.”
“I know.”
I absolutely did not know. She smirks. I ignore her.
On the sideline, Levi is celebrating with his staff, and his smile…
My heart.
I’ve seen this man smile in photos. In interviews. But never like this. This is pure, unfiltered joy; his whole face transformed, and it hits me like a punch to the chest.
I want to make him smile like that. I want to be the reason he smiles like that.
The thought catches me off guard. It’s not just lust, though there’s plenty of that. It’s something else. Something far more dangerous.
You don’t even know this man, Lina. You freaking shook his hand once!
But I feel like I do. Years of watching him, studying him, building a picture of who he is. The interviews where he’s unexpectedly funny, self-deprecating, quick-witted. The way he talks about his players like they’re his family. His quiet intensity, his passion, his drive.
I know Levi Hendricks, at least the parts of him he shares with the public. I just haven’tmethim. Not really.
But you want to.
Yeah. I really, really do.
The game ends 3-1. The stadium is delirious. Ninety-two thousand people on their feet, chanting, screaming. The players are celebrating on the field, hugging each other, waving to the crowd. And I’m about to go down there.
Okay. Deep breaths. You can do this, Lin’.
Agent Torres appears at my elbow. “Ready when you are, ma’am.”
I stand, smooth my dress, and paste on my presidential smile.
It’s just a photo op. Shake hands, look gracious. And don’t stare at Levi’s forearms!
We make our way through the tunnels, security flanking me on all sides. I can hear the roar of the crowd above, feel the energy vibrating through the concrete walls.
Then we’re at the tunnel entrance, with the players filtering in, sweaty and overjoyed.
And him… He sees me before I do. I feel it: the weight of his gaze landing on me like a physical touch. I turn, and there he is, twenty feet away, surrounded by staff and players.
Our eyes meet.And oh fuck.
He’s sweaty. Tie loosened, top button undone, hair disheveled from running his hands through it. He looks like he just ran a marathon. Or had sex for fucking hours…
My mouth goes dry.
Focus, Kane. You’re fucking working here!
