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Or maybe watching it with Burke was.
The game was exhilarating, especially the roar of the crowd as the receiver stretched out for a one-handed fourth-quarter catch in the end zone. I screamed myself hoarse, gripping Burke’s arm tight while he tried to act like he wasn’t completely stressed out watching the close score.
In the end, Michigan won by ten, and when they scored their last touchdown, I watched him throw his fists in the air, tip his head back, and scream. Men traded backbreaking hugs, and it was so weirdly emotional that I had to work at not crying when the team gathered on the field in front of the student section and led the singing of the fight song.
I didn’t know the words, but I’d picked up quickly when to punch my fist in the air.
Burke joined them, singing the words at the top of his lungs, and that also almost made me burst into tears. Players had their arms around each other, sweating and joyous.
It was a family.
And today he was feeling a little bit of what he’d missed.
As he walked back toward me, a triumphant, dimple-baring grin on his face, I felt irrepressible flutters in my belly.
He didn’t kiss me when he stopped in front of me, not with so many eyes watching, but he did slide his arm around my waist and hold me close.
“We can get back to the hotel faster if we walk,” he said, lips brushing my ear.
I nodded, digging my fingers around the back of his belt.
The buoyant crowd of people leaving the stadium made for a jubilant exit to an emotionally draining day. Occasionally, people would scream his name and ask for a picture, and he always obliged.
Burke might have hated being the center of attention, but he never made anyone aware of it. He gripped my hand tight as we made our way down the packed streets of Ann Arbor. It was dark out, but the city was absolutely alive and buzzing.
The mood was happy and light, and we were content to watch the celebrations as we walked back to our hotel.
It was impossible to reconcile the teasing, easy touches between us as he let me precede him into the lobby. There was a spectrum of uncharted territory between Burke and me, and we were inching closer and closer to the last thing we’d yet to experience.
He didn’t even pretend he was going to his own room, and when he tugged me into a dark corner before we got on the elevator, I was only a little surprised.
Burke backed me against a wall, sliding a sure hand along my hip and up my back and ducking his head down to press a hot kiss underneath my ear.
“You’re sure?”
He spoke the question into my skin, one last chance for me to back away. To put pressure on the brakes, if that’s what I wanted.
I turned my head, seeking skin of my own. His hands were braced on either side of me, blocking me from view of anyone who might pass by.
“Burke,” I whispered, “I’m so very”—I kissed his jaw—“very”—the edge of his mouth—“sure.”
He pulled his head back to stare down into my face. His eyes were deep and searching, looking for something in me. Or maybe searching for something inside himself.
One of his hands slid down my side, wrapping the jersey in a tight fist. When he pulled, the shirt went taut against my body. My hips arched against him.
“I wish I could redo the moment you came out of that elevator,” he said in a rough voice.
My chest heaved as I tried to gulp in the right amount of air. “Yeah?”
“Say what I was thinking. I didn’t know how.”
I touched his bottom lip. His words from earlier rang through my head. How he was doing everything wrong.
“I don’t need pretty words from you, Burke.” I pushed closer, the backs of my fingers brushing against his. His hand turned, allowing our fingers to slide together. His other hand came up and slid around my waist. Mine smoothed over his chest and over his shoulder. When he was touching me, he was settled and calm, his eyes clearer.
Hadn’t it always been like that for us? Our bodies knew, deep down, that together we were better.
“Ididhave thoughts when I saw you,” he said, brushing his cheek against my temple.
