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I refrained from rolling my eyes at his corny pun. “Yes, we do. But I can assure you I’m quite real. Please, call me Aspen.”
“Aspen,” he repeated, his eyes taking on a husky kind of glow and h
is voice lowering. “A lovely name for a lovely woman.”
I flushed from head to toe, not sure how to take such a compliment. I kind of liked it, but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to.
Before I could stumble out some halfhearted thank you, the game’s announcer broke in over the speaker system, kicking the day’s events into gear.
Philip and I turned our attention to the end zone where a gigantic Jumbotron sat. A series of two-second clips from various players flashed across the screen, creating an inspiring monologue from the team as a whole. When they showed Noel wearing a number twelve jersey with a ball cradled in his large hands, my insides jumped with restless energy.
“It’s about that moment when everything comes down to nothing but the drive and determination to succeed,” he said to the crowd before a new player’s face lit up the entire screen.
Still picturing number twelve though, I pursed my lips, remembering another “D” word he’d used to describe the game he played. It hadn’t been drive or determination, but desperation.
I still wondered why he’d said that and what he’d meant. It’d been two days since our meeting in my office and he’d yet to turn in his revision paper, but I was curious to learn why he’d chosen that one word.
“So, you like football, huh?” Philip’s voice broke into my thoughts and I literally jumped, making him chuckle and reach out to set a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. “Sorry about that.”
I waved my hand, instantly forgiving him. “No, it’s fine. I was...woolgathering. But, yes, I’ve always enjoyed watching. It’s almost like a chessboard, but more...physical.” Rolling my eyes, because I probably sounded like an idiot, I sent him a bashful smile. “There’s not a lot of contact in my vocation, so I’ve always been curious and somewhat stimulated by it.”
Glancing up to catch his reaction, I abruptly decided physical, contact and stimulated might not have been the ideal word choices. That glimmer in his eyes he’d gotten when he’d said my name returned.
His lips twitched with an amused smile. “I love it when a woman is stimulated by football,” was all he said before the people in the crowd around us flew out of their seats and began cheering. I ripped my attention away from Philip and turned to the field to see all the players making their big entrance. Immediately, I stood up with everyone else.
It didn’t take me long to find player number twelve. He was jogging near the front of the line, wearing a maroon jersey, while half the team wore white. With his helmet on and his pads making his shoulders impossibly wide, he epitomized the perfect football star. I held my breath and brought my knuckles to my mouth, stretching up onto my tiptoes so I could keep a constant visual of him.
“With Gamble as a senior next year, I think we’ll take national championships, no problem,” Philip said, leaning in toward me.
I jumped, already having forgotten he was there. But seriously? How had he known to mention Noel Gamble just when I was thinking about him? Ugh, probably because I was always thinking about Noel Gamble.
I sent the history professor a weak smile. “So, he’s that good, huh?”
Philip’s grin was knowing and kind of flirtatious. “Just watch. He’s the best QB we’ve probably ever had.”
“Hmm.” I tried not to appear too intrigued. But there was no way to mask my anticipation twenty minutes later when Noel’s side took the offensive and he jogged onto the field. On his first play, he wound back his arm as soon as the center snapped the ball into his hands. With perfect precision, he zipped it toward another player racing down the field. His receiver didn’t have to slow down or speed up. He didn’t even have to stretch for the catch. He merely cupped his fingers and the pigskin landed within the gloved cradle of his waiting palms.
“Oh, my God,” I murmured, astounded. “He could be the next Aaron Rodgers.”
Next to me, Philip moaned and then laughed as he set his hand over his heart, wincing. “God, please don’t tell me you’re a Packers fan.”
With an arch of my eyebrows, I turned to him, ready to defend my team loyally. “Of course. Why, which pro team do you support?”
“Hello. We’re in Illinois. I’m Bears, all the way.” I wrinkled my nose, but he was quick to add, “But my favorite quarterback in the league is Tom Brady.”
Nodding, I let him have that one. Brady wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. But... “I’m pretty partial to Alex Smith myself.”
This time, it was Philip’s turn to nod as if allowing me that concession before he added, “At least you didn’t say Manning.”
I grinned. “Which one?”
He pointed at me, a big grin spreading across his face. “Hell, you do know your quarterbacks. Very nice, Dr. Kavanagh.” He never did tell me whether he was talking about Eli or Peyton, but he seemed so impressed by my sports knowledge, I guess it didn’t matter.
Pleased I’d been able to impress him, I smiled back and reminded him, “It’s just Aspen.”
“Right. Aspen.” As his gaze heated in that interested-male way of his, I bit the inside of my lip, not sure what to do with all his attention.
Around us, the stadium went crazy. I wrenched my attention to the field just in time to see number twelve dodge a hulking defender and leap into the end zone, scoring a touchdown.
