For the rest of the game, I cheered when we had great plays, jumped to my feet and stayed there when there were forty-five seconds left and the kicker lined up a field goal to seal the win.
When it was done and they’d won, I pushed through the crowd, headed toward the back hallways where only family had access, and waited for Beaux, and Oliver, to make their appearance from the locker room.
The hallway was packed with media and sportscasters. Cameramen lined up outside the locker room. From inside, the chants and cheers of the victorious team reverberated through the hallway like a dull roar.
“You’re new. You family or girlfriend?”
I turned toward the female voice and smiled, holding out my hand. “Shannon Hale, Beaux’s older sister.”
Her face lit up with recognition. “Oh! We didn’t get a chance to meet the other day. I’m Jillian Rudolph, Danny’s wife.”
“Nice to meet you.” I’d met Rudolph at the party. He’d pointed his wife out to me from the distance, and up close she looked just as pretty as she had in a white, one-piece swimsuit with cutouts just above her hips. Rudolph was a defensive end player, large and strong and had a great game earning one sack. “He played great tonight.”
“He’ll play better later,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “I bet Oliver will, too.”
I jerked back, and she laughed at my surprise.
“They’re good friends. Trust me, there isn’t a thing Oliver does that Danny doesn’t know about. And I’ve been hearing about you all week long.”
“Um.” Nerves suffused my veins and speech was difficult. This was for fun, sure, but he’d talked about me? “We, um…just met and we’re friends.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “It’s okay. Us girls need to stick together. Did you watch the game from a box?”
“No. Fifty-yard line. Beaux’s always gotten me tickets there.”
“Oh. Those are wonderful! Danny always gets the seats for me in the box with other player’s wives.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “But between you and me, it’s hard to watch the game from there.”
“You can always join me,” I said, my mouth moving before I could stop myself. “Beaux gets me two, but I watch the game alone.”
“That’d be great! And you and Oliver should come for dinner some night. Or just us. Girls’ nights are more fun anyway, you know?” She nudged my side and it took me a moment to regain my bearings.
I was used to women using me to get close to Beaux. I wasn’t used to women seemingly being so open and honest. But as my gaze roamed over Jillian, her kindness and friendly smile made it easy to trust her. Blond hair pulled back into a ponytail with Rudolph’s jersey, skinny jeans and faded, well-worn gray Chucks on her feet, she lacked the pretentiousness so many athletes’ wives seeped from their pores.
“I’d like that,” I found myself saying. “The game, at least. Oliver and I…we’re just…” Heat bloomed on my chest as I tried to find the words. “Having fun. Friends.”
“Right.” She winked. “Of course you are.”
The doors burst open then. Lights flashed and media personnel shouted their questions to players as they began exiting the locker room. All wet-headed and dressed in suits, you could tell they’d celebrated and showered quickly before leaving.
Beaux came out early and was instantly surrounded by the reporters. I stayed back, next to Jillian. Beaux twisted around his Rough Riders baseball hat so the team’s logo was in front and began answering questions.
His eyes met mine and he smiled. I held his gaze, silently encouraging him and letting my pride for him shine through until a different current hit me.
Oliver exited the locker room, hat pulled lower over his eyes, covering his dirty blond hair. His head dipped and he thanked the reporters clamoring for his attention, but he seemed to pay them no mind while he pushed past the small, congregated crowd before making his way to me.
“Yeah. If you two are just having fun, I’ll eat my husband’s hat.” Jillian nudged me again, playfully.
I didn’t turn to look at her, but my lips lifted into a smile.
Whether it was because I liked her and found her funny or because Oliver didn’t stop moving until he was directly in front of me, I didn’t know.
“Ready to get out of here?” he asked, his voice rough and thick.
I was sure I answered.
Certain I tried to.
It felt like a handful of cotton balls were lodged in my throat as my mouth opened and closed.
His hand gripped mine and he tugged me toward him and whispered, “I told Beaux where we’d be. He said he’ll see you in the morning.”
I caught Beaux’s gaze, his eyes tightening as he saw me leaving, and then I was pulled through the maze of hallways, unable to gather my thoughts while Oliver guided me toward his car.
***
“You guys had a great game,” I said once we were settled into his car.
We’d made a brief stop at Beaux’s car, where I’d left an overnight bag earlier, and then a strange silence had permeated the fancy vehicle while Oliver guided us out of the underground parking garage for players and season ticket holders and onto the packed streets of downtown Raleigh.
His hands flexed on the wheel.
“You don’t think so?” I asked when he didn’t answer.
“I never think we play as great as we should.”
It didn’t surprise me. Oliver was intense and focused off the field just as much as he was on it.
“It was still a great touchdown you made in the third.”
His lips went from a pressed line to a hint of a smile. Shaking his head, he looked at me. His expression softened a bit. “You love the game.”
“Well, yeah, it was either find a way to love it growing up or hate all the hours I spent at the fields and driving Beaux around. I could have either become bitter and jealous of his success or been a part of it. I chose the latter.”
“Yeah, but you still didn’t have to like the game. You could have supported him without it.”
I grinned then. “It’s more fun this way.”
He fell silent after that, seemingly lost in his thoughts.
After several blocks where he seemed to be twisting his car around the streets of downtown instead of heading out to his place, when he spoke again, he surprised me.
“I have to admit—that catch was awesome.”
“Soft fingers,” I whispered. “It was incredible to watch. Everyone around me went insane when you hurdled the defender.”
He pulled up to a building and shoved the gearshift into park. We idled at the curb, and I looked at where he’d stopped us. A hotel.
Disappointment uncurled in my stomach.
I closed my eyes and let a soft breath fall from my lips.
“Trust me,” he said, reaching out to open his door. “When I get you to my room, my fingers will be anything but soft.”
The desire that was there before sparked, but fizzled quickly as I realized what we were doing.
What I was doing with him.
A hotel. A one-night stand.
Was I really prepared for all of this? For the whispers and the gossips and being treated like his latest fling?
I had never been one to live so recklessly.
Yet hadn’t I earned it? Didn’t I deserve a month of hot sex and fun and no strings and everything else single people experienced all through their twenties?
It was that realization that made me force down my disappointment and the increasing unease as my door was opened.
“Good evening, Mr. Powell. Good game earlier.”
“Thank you, Frank,” Oliver said, lifting his hand toward me as he stood next to the bellhop who had opened my door.
Frank was old, his hands speckled with liver spots, leathered skin telling me that when he was younger he spent too much time in the sun and used too little sunscreen. His eyes met mine with a kind smile. “Good evening, miss.”
“Shannon,” Oliver said, pulling me out of the car. He’d already grabbed my overnight bag and it was thrown over his shoulder. “She’ll be here frequently.”
A glimmer of excitement hit Oliver’s eyes as he made his intent clear.
“Very well, sir,” Frank said and closed the door behind me. He took the keys from Oliver and gripped them in his palm. “Straight to the garage tonight?”
“You have a break coming up?”
“Always plan on it when I know you’re coming.”
“Then take it for a spin, but be kind to her.”
“Will do, sir.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Call me Oliver, for the love of God, Frank.”
Frank winked at me before shaking his head. “Can’t cross all the lines with my job. You know that.”
Oliver smiled at him—the first genuine smile I’d seen on him all night. I had watched the entire conversation slack-jawed. When he slid that grin in my direction, my mouth snapped closed.
“Just don’t crash her.”
“Never do,” Frank said as he opened the driver’s door and slid inside. He peeled out onto the street so fast I wondered if he’d looked for traffic first.
As the lights disappeared around the first corner and the sound of screeching tires evaporated, the smell of burned rubber remained.
“Come on.” Oliver tugged on my hand, and I stumbled on my feet, trying to catch up to him.