Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
We had no choice but to go past the players, some of whom were trickling back into the locker room until it was time for them to run out through the tunnel.
Braden, of course, wasn’t one of them.
He stood next to one of the benches, one foot propped on it while he did some sort of mobility stretch with his hip. His helmet was on the ground, his uniform crisp and clean for the only time it would be all game. I knew once that first whistle blew, it would be over — that white fabric would be covered with dirt and grass stains, with blood and sweat.
It made me absolutely feral to think about being the one to strip him out of it when the war was over.
He glanced over his shoulder when the dancers started approaching, acting like he barely noticed before he was focused on his stretch again. But he looked again when I was closer, and this time, his eyes found mine and held my stare.
It was only a moment, four or five seconds at best, but time warped and slowed like someone had pressed pause just for us. His warm eyes searched mine, like he wanted to say a million different things and hoped I’d hear them all by that look alone.
His expression was pained, his brows bent upward, jaw tight.
I wondered if his lungs burned as badly as I did when we shared the same air but couldn’t share each other.
Before the moment ended, I offered him the smallest smile, just a slight tilt of my lips that I hoped told him I was thinking all the things he was.
He broke, his lips curling to mirror mine before he ripped his gaze away and back to his leg.
But just as I was set to pass behind him, he adjusted his stance, and I didn’t have time to move or avoid him.
I bumped into the back of him, letting out a little squeal.
“Sorry,” I said, catching my balance.
And then I realized why he’d done it.
Because his hands reached out for my hips to steady me, that smile on his lips wider now, his eyes bright with mischief.
“My bad,” he said, his voice low, and his eyes raked down me, milking that stolen moment for all it was worth. His hands lingered on my skin for as long as they could before it would be inappropriate, and then reluctantly, he let me go.
And I felt a whole different kind of energy buzzing through me now.
We filed into position along the sideline, our formation tightening as we waited for the cue to take the center of the field. The stadium was nearly full now, a sea of colors and movement, the kind of electric, pre-kickoff anticipation that fueled our players and dancers alike. Music pulsed low through the speakers, not yet our track, just enough to keep the energy simmering as the final minutes ticked down.
My chest rose and fell a little faster than usual, a combination of my usual pre-game nerves and him.
I could still feel the imprint of Braden’s hands on my hips, the heat of his palms like it had soaked straight through my uniform and into my bloodstream. Every part of me felt more awake because of it, more aware, more alive, like I’d been dialed up just a notch too high in the best possible way.
And I knew he was still watching.
I didn’t look for him again, but I could feel it all the same.
“Places,” our captain called, and we started our jog toward the center of the field, pompoms catching the light with every step.
The noise grew louder the farther we went, the crowd swelling around us, wrapping us in it. I lifted my chin, letting it all hit me at once, the sun beaming overhead, the sound of the crowd, the energy—
And then something cut through it.
A voice.
Two voices.
Voices I would know anywhere.
I tried to follow them through the rest of the noise, searching the crowd as I filed into formation. Their screams grew louder, like they realized I was looking for them. And that’s when my gaze snagged on a pair of neon-green jerseys in the front row.
My parents.
The world tilted beneath my feet, causing me to stumble left a bit before I straightened.
They were here.
Why the fuck were they here?
They were right behind the home bench, pressed up against the railing, waving like they were trying to flag down a plane. Mom was who I saw first, her honey brown, silky hair framing her smooth, tan skin like a halo. Her face lit up when she realized I’d spotted them, and she jumped even higher with the glitter-covered sign in her hand.
We love you, Emily!
Dad was there beside her, a little more subdued, but beaming just the same. The neon of the jersey blazed against his deep brown skin, his hair cut into a tight fade, smile so wide I could see it even from the center of the field.