Taylor leaned over and whispered, “Damn, that boy has a nice ass.”
A blush tinged my cheeks. “Yes, he does.”
“I don’t think there’s a dry thong in the house.”
“Taylor!”
“Just saying.” She gave me a saucy look. “You’d be the envy of the arena if these women knew you’d slept with him.”
“And I just might shrivel up and die if he moves on and finds someone else to sleep with.”
That, of course, was the moment I made up my mind.
I suddenly couldn’t wait for the game to be over. Though it was fast moving, I was antsy to get out of my seat. When the final touchdown hit the scoreboard, Carter had led his new team to an impressive 64-32 victory, propelling the Rattlers into the top spot in their division.
I hadn’t realized so much was riding on this game. I’d thought it was just about Carter’s career. But the team had the potential to make it the national championship again, and they needed a quarterback of Carter’s caliber to help get them there.
As the team celebrated on the field, Taylor and I stood. Carter worked his way out of the huddle of football players who had surrounded him, clearly embracing his leadership and talent. He took a few steps away from the rowdy crowd and his gaze scanned the stands, landing on me. He’d known exactly where to look, after all.
I gave him a little wave as my heart fluttered. He, in turn, lifted his chin in acknowledgement of my presence.
Beside me, Taylor said, “That pretty much says it all.”
“What do you mean?” I asked as I pulled my gaze from Carter and stared at my friend.
“He’s clearly capable of keeping his head in the game while you’re on his mind.”
I smiled at her. “Good point.”
We made our way to the locker room, along with dozens of other reporters. I was a bundle of nerves as I flashed my press pass and entered the room, my eyes immediately landing on Carter. He’d stripped off his jersey and shoulder pads and was chatting with the player next to him as I swooped in, trying to grab him before anyone else did. He was the hero of the hour, after all.
Stepping around a cameraman, he met me halfway across the room.
“Hey,” he said, a brilliant smile on his devastatingly handsome face. “You came.”
“Of course.”
“But you didn’t call me.”
My eyes narrowed. “Was I supposed to?”
Carter laughed. Shaking his head, he said, “You didn’t read my letter, did you?”
I hadn’t been able to bring myself to, though I desperately wanted to read it now.
I said, “I needed to see you first. Regardless of what you wrote, I wanted to see you once more before I read it.”
He raked a hand through his damp hair, then said, “Let me knock out some of these interviews and then we can talk.”
Reporters were clamoring around us, vying for his attention. I didn’t want to do my own interview in this mayhem, so I said, “Meet you at T. Cook’s?”
He gave me a pointed look, and I knew exactly what he wanted to say, but couldn’t in front of all of these people. “Okay. See you later.”
I dragged Taylor away from the half-naked football players and out into the corridor.
She said, “I’m seriously considering changing my specialty. I should be a sports reporter. Did you see the talent in there?”
“You’re not talking about the way they play, are you?”
“No, girlfriend, I am not.”
I laughed. “Might want wipe the drool from your mouth.”
She fanned herself with a hand. “I’m buying season tickets.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
* * * * *
I dropped Taylor at her condo and drove to the Royal Palms. I valet parked and wandered over to Carter’s suite, a strange mixture of wanting to rush and wanting to meander eating at me. My stomach was in knots, but my heart beat wildly. I had no idea what the turnout of our meeting would be, though I certainly hoped we were finally on the same page.
He didn’t answer when I knocked on his door, so I assumed he was on his way to the resort. I imagine it’d taken a bit of time to answer all the questions posed to him, so I settled into a comfortable chair at the black, wrought-iron table on his patio. The porch light was on, emitting a soft golden glow. It was then I decided to read his letter.
My Dearest Cherish,
The day I walked into the newsroom our senior year, you were wearing a pale pink sweater and jeans. Sparkly clips pulled the hair away from your face, and you were beautiful.
For the Homecoming dance, I’d wanted to ask you to go with me, but I’d been elected Homecoming King and had to take the Queen. You didn’t show up for the dance.