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Chapter Thirteen
AJ
The stands are packed with fans as the Marching Eagles take the field for their halftime routine. I shouldn’t be surprised to see my grandparents here, but I am. Rarely do they attend sporting events; at least they haven’t much since my sisters and I all graduated.
“That man is pure sin,” Grandma bends down and whispers in my ear. And because she’s sitting directly behind me, she has a front row seat to our second date. Not that they know that tiny detail. “Have you played bedroom baseball yet, AJ?”
I glance round at the surprised faces of those sitting to my right and in front of me.
Obviously, Grandma’s whisper needs a little work.
“This is hardly an appropriate location for this discussion,” I mumble, turning to where the girls are conversing on the sideline.
“But look at that ass,” Grandma murmurs happily.
When I follow her line of sight, I see Sawyer heading this way, sliding down our row, greeting and chatting with every person who stops him. You can tell he’s used to being recognized and goes with the flow. He visits briefly with Mr. Stewart, our principal, his hands full of drinks and snacks from the concession stand.
His back is turned to us, which gives us the perfect view of his deliciously hard derrière. And we’re not the only ones appreciating the view. Every female in our section (hell, in the entire bleachers, really) happens to be glancing his way and ogling the fine specimen of man that is the new teacher in town. Not only does that tidbit make him prime gossip material, but throw in the fact that he’s the Sawyer Randall, and suddenly everyone is buzzing for details.
“If you don’t stop staring, your face will freeze that way,” Grandpa says from beside his wife.
“What face?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at one of the two men who raised me.
“That lusty I want to drop my drawers and do dirty things to the baseball player face,” Grandma chimes in. My jaw drops to my chest in a combination of surprise and embarrassment. Grandpa just nods in agreement. Everyone around me snickers and giggles.
Awesome.
Sawyer slides onto the bleacher beside me, only to jump up right away.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I just set my hand down on the bleacher for a rest,” Grandma says, all too familiar smile on her face. She has that guilty I-just-copped-a-feel look.
“Resting your hand?” I mumble as Sawyer takes his seat beside me.
“I had to, AJ. Call it research,” she says, happily watching the marching band perform.
Sawyer hands me a bottle of Coke and a bag of popcorn, before turning and offering some to my grandparents. “Sorry it took so long,” he says, leaning in to me to be heard over the band.
“It’s okay. The price you pay for being famous,” I tease.
“Yeah, everyone is my friend,” he replies, a slight sarcastic tone bubbling to the surface. I’m sure it’s difficult being a professional athlete, not knowing if someone is real or just pretending to be your friend to get what they can out of you.
“I’m your friend,” I say under my breath to keep the conversation on the lighter side.
“You are definitely not my friend,” he whispers, reaching over and grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bag in my hand.
“I’m not?” I ask, grabbing a few kernels and popping them into my mouth.
Leaning my way, I feel his warm breath against the shell of my ear when he replies, “I don’t want to fuck my friends.”
My blood swooshes in my ears and I can feel my face heating. Electricity courses through my veins like lightning, wetness pooling between my thighs.
“That was hot,” Grandma whispers in my ear, making me groan.
Sawyer glances at me with one eyebrow raised. “They have excellent hearing,” I concede and wait for the moment he realizes what I mean. When he gets it, his cheeks turn a cute shade of pink before he cracks a smile.
“Duly noted,” he replies, turning his attention to the field.
“Back when AJ was seventeen, Meggy spent the night at a friend’s house, so AJ thought she’d sneak her boyfriend into her bedroom after everyone went to bed.”
