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“Good luck today. I’ll be cheering for you—literally.” I let out a quiet laugh as my suitcase rumbled behind me.
Tatum chuckled. “I love you.”
Those three words washed away all the fears of the morning, all the worries of the game. “I love you, too. And I’m in this with you. I’m on your team.”
* * *
The clockfor the second quarter of the game was almost down to zero. The ladies and I congregated at the mouth of the home team tunnel and began to line up to dance our way onto the field for our halftime routine. Jewel tossed me a red sports drink. I caught it, cracked the cap open, then exploded in a fit of giggles. Tatum’s face was plastered on the side of the plastic wrapper.
“There’s your man,” Jewel teased with a wiggle of her shoulders. The Reds’ offense was lined up on the forty-yard line with seven seconds to go. They were down by five and, given how evenly matched the two teams had been today, needed a touchdown to pull ahead before the second half.
I faked a laugh. “He is not my man.” The lie made my stomach turn sour.
She sniggered from behind her bottle. “He’s making eyes at you.”
I rolled mine and capped my drink. “You honestly think that on a fourth down, he’s looking into the tunnel to pick out one out of twenty-something blondes on this squad?”
Action on the field blazed toward us. The center snapped the ball back to Gideon Carmichael. He faked left, then threw a hail Mary down the field to Tatum, who was weaving around the defenders. The ball slid into Tatum’s gloves smooth as butter as he ran it into the end zone as the clock hit zero. Touchdown Reds.
The spectators dotting the sidelines cheered. Camera men and women busied themselves with catching the players’ reactions and getting in position for the halftime show. I pulled my leg behind me, grabbing my ankle and pressing the heel of my boot to my ass to stretch out my knee. I gripped the bar in my poms and wiggled, getting out those nervous jitters.
“You ready for this?” Jewel squealed as she took her place in line.
Players piled through the tunnel, heading back to their locker room. I wedged both pom-poms into my right hand so I could wipe away the sweat on my left.
As my hand skimmed my thigh, Tatum appeared in the tunnel. His helmet was hooked in his right hand.
His eyes flicked to me, our gaze only meeting for a second. Time slowed down, the movement around us turning to a blur as our left hands brushed. He slid his pinky around mine and gave it a squeeze.
Radio chatter from the AV booth crackled over Catherine Trumble’s walkie-talkie, giving a countdown for our halftime performance.
The touch was like lightning—here and then gone. Tatum disappeared into the tunnel, followed by the rest of the team.
“Girl.” Jewel leaned down, her dark hair brushing my shoulder. “You have some serious explaining to do.”
