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“You suck at sports, G,” Cassie added. “I mean, are you trying to suck this bad at sports? I’m honestly starting to wonder.”
“I do not suck at sports!”
Yeah. She really did. Her sports knowledge was so bad it couldn’t even be scored.
Cassie nodded, sweeping a hand out toward the field. “Um…yeah…you do.”
One stubborn hand went straight to Georgia’s hip. The real attitude had arrived. “I work for the Mavericks, you know. I work for them, and I know a lot about football.”
I nodded thoughtfully and pursed my lips before asking, “What’s the quarterback’s name?”
“Quinn.”
“What’s his last name?” Cassie pushed.
She stared Cassie down for a second, and it was obvious she was racking her brain for the answer. Her mouth formed silent words, but they were easily read.
QB Pie…Q…B…Quinn…B…Quinn…
Her eyes lit up. “Bailey! Ha-ha! His name is Quinn Bailey! Suck on that, cupcake!”
Cassie smirked. “That’s so cute, Wheorgie. That you call the quarterback of a professional football team, QB Pie.”
Georgia’s jaw dropped, and then her nose scrunched up in frustration when she realized she had laid her cards right on the table without saying a single word.
“You are literally the most adorable human being I’ve ever met,” Cass added with a wink.
“She’s right,” I agreed. “You’re fucking adorable.”
“Goddammit,” Georgia muttered. “I will know sports someday. I will.”
I reached around Cassie and patted Georgia’s shoulder. “I have full faith in you.”
Cassie coughed to hide her words. “Gnome, you don’t.” And then she coughed again. “I gnome I don’t.”
Georgia shoved her, and I laughed.
“I hope you shit yourself when you deliver the baby,” Georgia mumbled, but she said it loud enough for us to hear.
“Excuse me?” Cassie asked and squinted both her eyes in irritation.
“I said,” Georgia enunciated dramatically, “I hope you shit yourself when you deliver the baby.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cassie scoffed. “No one does that.”
Oh, Jesus. Here we go.
Georgia’s smile was full-megawatt, I motherfucking told you so.
Cassie’s head swung back and forth like a flag in the wind, and then she paused—the calm before the storm.
“WHAT!” she screamed as she jumped to her feet, and the people sitting in the bleachers in front of us turned to look. “I’M GOING TO SHIT MYSELF WHEN I HAVE THIS BABY?”
I honestly thought time had stopped in that moment.
Just stopped.
And the entire universe was focused on the three of us.
Cassie held her hand above her eyes to shield the sun, and she stared out onto the field in search of her husband. “THATCHER!” Her voice was a fucking bellow, possessed by the evilest of spirits. “YO! SUPERCOCK!”
Thatch, noting the severity of the situation, stopped midrun and turned to look at his crazy wife.
“Cass? Honey? I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” he yelled back to her.
“THATCHER! DID YOU KNOW THAT I’M GOING—”
I hopped to my feet and slapped my hand across her mouth before she could take this situation from ridiculous to downright insane.
“It’s fine!” I called out to Thatcher. “She’s just having a moment!”
He smirked and shook his head. “Tame the crazy until after the game, honey, okay?”
Cassie tried to yell something back to him, but I held steadfast in my silencing ways.
No one at this game, no one in this city, no one on planet Earth needed to have those kinds of visuals put inside their heads. If anything, I was doing this as a civic duty to protect humanity.
Even Wes had taken notice of the situation and looked up toward the bleachers where we sat. His concerned gaze met mine, and he mouthed, “Are you okay?”
I just nodded and offered a reassuring smile. He turned to go back to play, but he paused and looked up at me once more.
“Are you sure?” he mouthed.
I nodded again.
And then a sly, slow smirk crested his perfect lips, and he did the one thing that I didn’t expect.
He held up his hand and showed me the inside of his fist with a wink.
Our signal. In front of everyone there, Wes Lancaster had unmistakably declared him and I as a unit in that moment.
To say I swooned would’ve been an understatement.
Sure, the parameters were still hazy as fuck, but the evidence of the lines were there.
“What was that?” Cassie asked when I finally pulled myself together and removed my hand from her mouth.
“What was what?”
“That little thing Wes just did. With his hand. What was that?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Great, Winnie, my hearted chided. The hot sex-god finally makes a declaration, and you do everything you can to avoid admitting to it?
We sat back down on the bleachers, and while I forced my focus toward the field, I could feel her staring holes through the side of my face.
I ignored her intensity for a while, but eventually, it felt impossible. When I turned toward her, her smile got bigger than her face. It was creepy, to be honest.
“That was a thing, wasn’t it? A sex thing.”
I shook my head and added the wag of a finger for good measure. “It was not.”
“I think it was a thing,” Georgia stated, jumping into our tête-à-tête without hesitation. “A kinky sex thing.”
Cassie nodded in agreement. “I think you’re right, Wheorgie. I think Winnie is falling head over heels in fluff-drunk love with Wes, and I think that was the symbol for butt stuff. You’re a little freak, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. “You guys are ridiculous.”
But they ignored me. And started talking about wedding plans.
My wedding plans.
Mine and Wes’s.
“Someone save me, please,” I muttered to myself just as Wes met my eyes as he ran and slid his tongue along his bottom lip.
Sweet Jesus.
You don’t want to be saved. You want to be swept off your feet by Wes Lancaster.
Was everyone crazy here? Even me?
I was honestly starting to wonder.
“Please! Holy hell, Kline, I can’t believe you’re spewing this crap to me,” Thatch boomed as I approached the round corner booth they’d somehow managed to snag. McCallan’s Pub was packed, jammed with people looking to ease the stress of work and commune with friends and foes alike—and, probably, escape from the ball-shriveling cold.
And yes, I’m the type of person who constantly whines about how cold it is, only to bitch about the heat when the weather turns. You’re better off accepting it now.
Something about the mix of alcohol and food always made McCallan’s seem like the perfect place to sit down for a laugh with your mortal enemy—if ever there was a place.
If I’d been here on time, I probably would have paid someone for the best booth in the place, but there was no way Kline had stooped to my level. I’m sure he’d somehow managed to rationalize to the manager he or she should set it aside for us.
Shaking my head at the mental picture of him doing just that, I didn’t notice Winnie looking at me until I was right there, too close to escape the effect she had on me and far too distracted to conceal my reaction.
She seemed surprised as my face lit up openly, but shock quickly morphed into elation.
Happiness sure looked good on her.
Christ, the truth was, everything looked good on her. I’d been half a nut for the entire game as I tried to keep one eye on the ball and the other on her. She’d been laughing and smiling and looking at me like I could walk on fucking water—and yeah, I’d seriously wanted to take her home with me and fuck her.
I’d planned to do just that, but she’d been gone before the game was over, and I hadn’t had the chance to ask. Something about running home before dinner to do…something. Fuck if I really knew, I just knew she was gone.
But she was here now.
“All I’m saying is that you can’t blame Jacob. She cried to him and counted on him, and fuck, the kid is jacked. It’s no wonder he thought maybe he had a chance at being more than friends with her,” Kline explained to Thatch passionately, talking with his hands and gesturing to Georgie in an effort to get her to back him up.
“What are you guys talking about?” I asked, taking a seat next to Winnie, running my arm along the back of the booth and making sure my thigh pressed tight to the warmth of hers. One glance down had me wishing I hadn’t been so hasty to put my arm up near her shoulders.
A sliver of her long, tan legs peeked out from the hem of a shorter than normal office skirt before being concealed again by thigh-high black suede boots. Clearly, one of the things she’d done at home was change clothes.
Goddamn, I’m in trouble tonight.
Winnie noticed the direction of my gaze, but she didn’t mention it. Instead, she rubbed her thighs together teasingly and bit into the flesh of her bottom lip.
I had to drag my eyes away with virtual sled dogs as Georgie provided an answer to my question.
Her face was bright, on the edge of manic, as she shared, “They’re having a Twilight argument.”
