Page 193 of On His Team

“She’s proud of you.”

“I know.”

“You should call her.”

“I will.”

Benson kisses the top of her head before letting her go. Then he looks at me. “Good goal.”

“Thanks.”

That’s all he says, but there’s something about the look that comes with it that makes me wonder exactly how much he’s noticing.

I don’t ask.

Later, Hawthorne fills up. Stanley orders enough food to feed everybody.

By eleven, people are spread across the kitchen and living room with plates balanced on their knees and drinks sitting wherever there’s room. Nobody is drunk. Nobody really has the energy after the day we’ve had.

Gianna ends up beside me on the couch. At first, we’re careful about it. There are a few inches between us, and both of us are pretending that it’s normal. Then her knee bumps mine.

A little later, her shoulder settles against me while she talks to Mara across the room. Eventually, she steals my drink, takes a sip, and puts it back between my legs like it belonged to her the whole time.

I don’t bother stopping her.

Stanley notices. He looks from her to me and then says absolutely nothing.

Around midnight, the house starts thinning out. Benson goes upstairs with Lucy. Blue and Melly leave. Percy disappears somewhere with Penelope. Stanley and Aspen get into a completely unnecessary argument about whether his game-winner was harder than my goal.

Gianna leans into my shoulder while they’re still going. “Come outside.”

I look down at her. “Why?”

“Because.”

That’s enough explanation. We go out through the kitchen door into the backyard, and the cold hits immediately. Gianna wraps her arms around herself and gives me an accusing look.

“You could’ve brought a coat.”

“I thought we were going six feet.”

“We are.”

“Exactly.”

She walks down the steps anyway, and I follow her far enough into the yard that the kitchen windows are behind us and nobody inside can see much more than shadows.

The second we’re out of sight, Gianna turns around and jumps.

I catch her on instinct, laughing as her arms go around my neck. “Jesus.”

“You scored.”

Then she kisses me. Hard enough that I have to adjust my grip under her thighs to keep her from sliding. There’s nothing careful about it now that we’re finally alone. She kisses me like I did something significantly more important than score one goal.

When she pulls back, she’s smiling. “That’s for the goal.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Only the goal?”