Emmy dodged a few stadium workers, headed up into the stands, and sat down. Practice was underway. Fine, she’d wait. But the words of her ebook didn’t hold her interest. After a few minutes on her word game app, she closed it. She was distracted. Brock was…distracting. Running down the field—all rippling muscles and strength. No matter how many drills he ran, he moved with explosive speed and force. He had, without a doubt, the most amazing body she’d ever seen. Which reminded her… I have a box of condoms. She glanced around, hugging her purse closer.
When the whistle blew and the team went on break, he grabbed a towel from one of the trainers, glanced her way, and headed toward the tunnel below her seat. He’d known she was there… According to Travis, and Krystal and Jace, Brock was always aware of her.
There were times he’d look at her and the pull between them seemed to blot out everything else. But…was that real? Or was she only seeing what she wanted? She’d know soon enough. That’s why she was up, heading out of the stands to meet him. By the time she’d made it to the tunnel leading onto the field, her nerves were stretched taut.
She’d barely entered the tunnel when she saw Brock. He was walking toward her, rubbing the towel over his face, sweaty and big and gorgeous. He wasn’t smiling, just staring—at her. Almost wary. Then again, she wasn’t smiling at him, either. She was staring.
The closer they got, the harder it was to ignore the very current drawing her in. When they were steps apart, she said, “I got your message.”
“Didn’t know if you’d come or not.” His blue eyes were searching hers.
“I didn’t, either.” She blew out a slow breath, trying to calm the tremor in her voice. “What did you want to talk about?”
He ran the towel along the back of his neck, swallowed, and said, “You and me.”
“You and me, real life?” It was hard to add, “Or you and me, Bremmy?”
“Em…” His jaw tightened as his gaze met hers. “You know better.”
“Do I?” Her words came pouring out. “Or am I so caught up in wanting you that I can’t see the truth?”
His eyes were blazing now. “We’ll get to the wanting part in a minute.” His voice was low and gruff. “I wanted you to hear this from me.” He closed the distance between them, his breath unsteady. “If all this media shit disappeared, it wouldn’t change what I’m after.”
“And what you’re after is?” she whispered.
“This, right here. A fresh start…” He cleared his throat. “With you. If that’s okay with you?”
A fresh start? The two of them. Her heart was beating so hard and fast, he had to hear it. When he held out his hand to her, there was no holding back. She was wrapping her arms around his waist and holding on tight. Eyes closed, she pressed her ear to his chest. His heart was racing—just as wild and thundering as hers. “It’s okay with me.”
* * *
Somehow, even with Emmy Lou in the stands, he managed to focus through the next two hours of practice. It wasn’t about proving himself to Emmy or showing off for Ricky Ames. It was about reassuring his team that he’d never stop fighting for them—even when he had the most beautiful girl in the world waiting in the stands.
But when the whistle blew, he was the first one off the field. Not that his team was going to make things easy on him. From jamming his locker to sending him to Coach McCoy’s office—McCoy hadn’t asked to see him—to hiding his phone to stealing his towel when he was in the shower. He took it in stride.
By the time he was clean and dressed—albeit missing his socks—he was nervous.
“You’ve got practice tomorrow,” RJ reminded him.
Brock brushed aside the onslaught of jokes that followed, shouldered his duffel bag, and headed out of the locker room.
Emmy Lou was standing outside, talking to McCoy.
“I appreciate that,” McCoy was saying. “She gets nervous. I know I’m her father, that maybe I don’t count, but I think she’s a good singer.”
“I know she’s not taking new clients but tell her I sent you.” Emmy wrote something on a piece of paper. “Maybe I’ll get to hear her sing one day.” But then she saw Brock. That smile of hers damn near knocked him to his knees.
McCoy read the paper. “I appreciate it.” Then coach was looking back and forth between them. “You coming?” He shook his head. “It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”
Brock nodded, taking Emmy’s hand once it was in reach.
“See you tomorrow.” McCoy scowled up at him. “Early.”
Brock nodded.
McCoy walked off, tucking the paper into his pocket.
“Good practice?” she asked, tugging on his hand.