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Chapter Twenty-Four
Sawyer
Dylan is following behind us as we make our way through the streets of DC and toward the ballpark. He’ll be heading directly home after the game to see his wife, Amber. Even though he’s been a pain in my ass all weekend, I’ll admit it’s been great having him around. I knew that AJ had nothing to worry about where my goofball brother was concerned, and after seeing their easy interaction these past two days, there’s no doubt in my mind that the rest of my family will love her too.
As much as I do.
That’s what I was about to say, but I’m trying not to put the cart before the horse here. I know my feelings for her are rounding third and heading toward home, but I’m not sure I’m ready to say it. I just need a little more time, even though that doesn’t quite feel right either. I mean, if I’m falling for her, I should tell her, right?
The fact that I already know where this is headed, just a few short weeks of really being together, is telling. I dated Carrie for almost six months before I said those words. I chalked it up to the distance, but looking back now, I know it was because something was missing. Like love.
It’s not that I didn’t love her, because I did, but it was just different than how I feel right now with AJ. I don’t know if that makes me an asshole or what, but whatever. And I bet if you’d ask Carrie, she’d say the same thing. I think feelings were involved, but I don’t think it was that all-consuming love you see in the big climax of romance movies. If it were, then would she have cheated?
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” AJ says, reaching over and setting her hand on top of mine on the shifter.
“Sorry, just thinking,” I tell her as I bring her hand up to my mouth and kiss the tender skin at her knuckles. She gives me a look like she might want to ask for details, but she doesn’t push. “I was thinking about how relaxed and comfortable this weekend was. With you in it.”
I’m rewarded with a bright smile that does things to my heart and my cock. “It was pretty great, wasn’t it? Your brother is hilarious. I can’t wait to meet Amber.”
“She’s awesome and doesn’t put up with Dyl’s shit. He talks a big game, but he’s pretty much whipped and knows it.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” she says, a single eyebrow rising
“I agree. When the right woman comes along, a man doesn’t mind at all,” I tell her, making sure to hold her eyes for a few extra seconds before returning them to the road.
We pull into a private lot around the back of the stadium and park. I can’t help but smile as AJ gets out of the car. Her tan legs look a fucking mile long in her sexy little jean shorts that have frayed edges, but that’s not what holds my attention right now. My girl is wearing my number. Apparently she found a jersey online Thursday and had it overnighted. She completely surprised me when she stepped out of my bathroom this morning sporting number fifteen.
My fucking number.
It’s fitted in all the right places and makes her tits look fucking amazing. We almost didn’t make it out of the damned bedroom.
“Do you have any idea how hot you look today?” I ask her when I reach the passenger side of the car.
“I believe the word you said earlier is scorching,” she coos, batting her eyelashes.
“Fucking dynamite. I’ve been hard since you walked into the room wearing it.”
“Boys are so silly,” she says with a laugh. “Why aren’t you wearing an old jersey?” she asks more seriously.
I give her a shoulder shrug. I’m wearing a team shirt, but not one of the many jerseys hanging in the closet in my workout room. “I’m not part of the team anymore.”
She wraps her arms around my shoulders and presses herself against me. “You’ll always be a part of the team, even if you’re no longer on the roster.” Her words strike a chord with me for some reason. She gets it. My love for this game, and this team, runs deep.
I need to kiss her. Now. My mouth sweeps down and claims her lips in a slow, savoring kiss. This may be my only chance to have her lips on mine for the next few hours, so I might as well take advantage of the opportunity while I can, right?
“Enough PDA,” Dylan hollers. “You’re going to scare the children.”
AJ pulls away just as a man and his two boys walk by, both kids giggling and pointing. Then, they just stop in their tracks. “Dad! That’s Sawyer Randall!” the older of the two boys yells.
The trio approaches us, big smiles on their faces. “Holy cow, it is! You’re my brother’s favorite player!” the youngest boy exclaims with a toothless grin, pointing to his brother’s shirt. I smile widely when I see my old number.
“What’s your name?” I ask the boy wearing my jersey.
“Adam. And my brother’s name is Andrew. And my dad’s name is Jason, but we call him Dad,” Adam says very matter-of-factly, which makes me laugh.
Crouching down so that we’re a little closer in size, I ask, “How old are you, Adam?”
“Nine last week.”
