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My heart skipped a beat when she reached over to grip my thigh, squeezing it tight. Then she turned her head. “It’s about to start.”
I couldn’t respond because my heart was still stuttering, and my blood was draining to my dick.
She didn’t seem to realize she was touching me so intimately because her hand remained for a few seconds longer before she slowly removed it.
Recovering my breath, I sat up, watching Corey’s team in black and purple set up for kickoff.
“Where’s Corey?”
“He’s on the black and purple team.” I moved closer, talking into her ear, and pointed to where Corey was lining up, ready to run when the ball was kicked downfield.
She clasped her hands tightly together, and I wondered if she was breathing. When the ball flew in the air, I was watching her wide gaze as she followed it, then winced when the receiver caught the ball and was tackled.
“Is that good?”
I looked at the field. “Yeah, the opposing team is only on the twenty-five-yard line. We held them to a gain of only a few yards.”
“Oh, good.”
She was so invested that you’d think it was her child down on that field, giving it his best. It warmed me to her even more. She cared about Corey and wanted him to do well.
“Did you want the snacks?” I asked her.
She sagged slightly, shifting back to face me in her chair. “I almost forgot.”
I handed her the pretzel, and she broke it into smaller pieces before offering me one. “You want a piece?”
I nodded before I could even process a response. Then she lifted a piece toward my mouth. I opened for it, still a little shell-shocked as to what was happening between us. Closing my mouth and chewing the salty, soft dough, I watched her gaze lower to my lips.
I felt a small twinge of satisfaction that she seemed to be as affected as I was. I licked the salt from my lips and swallowed before looking away.
“Thanks,” I said gruffly.
“Yeah, no problem.” She averted her gaze to the field.
I loved this interplay between us. It was reckless, but it felt good, and I hadn’t felt good about anything besides the garage or Corey’s grades.
As the game went on, she asked me questions while trying to understand the rules. I patiently explained the game to her, pleased she was so interested. Most girls might come to spend time with me but wouldn’t bother to care about the sport.
“What position does Corey play?”
“The coach has him at wide receiver for now. He’s tall and lanky and runs fast. If he bulks up, he may move him somewhere else.”
“Ah,” she said, her focus on the field.
When the quarterback threw downfield, we stood to follow the trajectory. Corey leapt to catch the ball, coming down in the end zone. I whistled loudly, cheering for him, and next to me, Hailey was jumping up and down. Then she clutched my bicep. “That was so amazing. I’m so happy for him.”
I looked down to see tears sparkling in her eyes. “It’s his first touchdown.”
She smiled, pointing at the field. “They’re doing a dance.”
Sure enough, Corey and his teammates were going through a semi-coordinated routine that looked as if it were practiced ahead of time. I hoped that meant he was finding his place on the team.
“They’re cute.” Her tone was full of affection.
“They’re something all right.” The reality was twelve-year-old boys had to be reminded to clean their rooms and shower. So, they were stinky and kind of lazy, but if she thought they were cute, I’d let her have her illusions.
“I know you think I’m ridiculous.” She glanced over at me sheepishly.
