“Lucy’s six and Brent is ten. They’re my twin sister’s, Heather’s, kids.”
“I didn’t know you were a twin. That’s so cool!”
It is cool. Very cool. Heather and I have been close since birth, so close that once our parents started putting us in separate cribs, we would rock our cribs across the room until we were close enough to reach through the bars and touch each other. So close that we were eight before we would even consider sleeping in separate rooms.
But as Emerson beams down at me, I don’t know how to tell her that. Any more than I know how to tell her that in a few months I won’t be a twin anymore. That I won’t even be a brother. I’m saved by the bell, though. Emerson’s alarm goes off as I’m still struggling to figure out what to say. Then we’re both rolling out of bed, heading for a much needed shower. The chance to tell her, to explain about Heather, slips away.
And I let it.
Chapter 22
Emerson
As one of the guards leads me through the stadium to the Lightning family box, I’m a little in awe. A little freaked out, too, considering I’m about to meet Hunter’s niece and nephew and God only knows who else.
When he invited me to the game, I was thinking he meant he’d get me good seats close to the field, where I could eat cotton candy with his niece and nephew. It never occurred to me that he had plans for me to sit in the family box with the wives and children of the other players.
Considering we’ve only known each other a week, it feels like a really big step.
Or it could be nothing, I remind myself as we wind our way through the stadium. For all I know, he invites all the women he dates during the season to the family box. Maybe that’s how all the players do it.
I’m not sure which would be worse—that he’s singling me out for special treatment because this thing between us means something to him or if this is just his regular MO. In the space of a week I managed to go from disdain to interest to falling in love with the man—which is absurd, I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s any less true. Any more than it means he feels the same way about me.
I mean, yes, he’s made a point of seeing me every day this week. Of taking me out to dinner on Friday night, after we both got off work. He didn’t spend the night Friday—he had family stuff with Heather planned for Saturday morning—but he showed up at noon to take me for lunch and window shopping at Seaport Village.
It was kind of a disaster as the hoodie and sunglasses he wore only fooled people who really didn’t care about sports. Those who knew who he was saw through the disguise in seconds and he ended up spending over an hour signing autographs and taking selfies.
He apologized to me before, during and after, but I noticed he made sure every fan who wanted one got a selfie and a chance to talk to him. He kept checking on me throughout, making sure I was okay, but he also took care of every fan there—from the six-year-old who was so excited he burst into tears to the nearly eighty-year-old retired high school football coach.
It only made me fall harder for him, this man who could have taken a couple cursory selfies and then disappeared into a restaurant. He didn’t because it was obvious that he values his fans as much as they value him, and I couldn’t be more impressed.
“It’s just a little farther,” says Mike, the security guard assigned to show me the way.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. It’s my first time.”
He grins hugely. “I know.”
I want to ask him how he knows and why he’s smiling so much, but we make it to the family box before I can figure out what to say. He pulls a card from his pocket, swipes it at the door, then hands it to me as he pushes the door open.
I look from the card to him. “What—”
“Hunter asked me to have one made for you, for the other home games,” Mike says with another big grin. He nods for me to go inside, then with a wave heads back the way we came. And I’m left staring after him wondering what exactly is happening here. Because, star quarterback or not, I’m pretty sure Hunter doesn’t get a key card to the family suite for every woman he dates.
The butterflies in my stomach get worse as the knowledge sinks in, and that’s before I actually step into the suite and see an array of pretty, polished people, all dressed up. I feel completely out of place in my jeans and old Lightning jersey, even before several of the women turn to stare at me consideringly. And condescendingly.
Shit. This was a really bad idea.
I think about backing out, about leaving the suite and finding some empty seat in the nosebleed section. But Hunter’s niece and nephew are supposed to be here and I know he wants us to meet.
There are several children here of varying ages, playing on tablets, watching TV, or just hanging out around an Xbox in the far back corner of the suite. The only problem is I have no idea which two, if any, are related to Hunter.
Fantastic. Nothing like dropping me in the deep end of the ocean to see if I can swim. And since the answer is no, I can’t swim, I’m not exactly feeling good about all this.
Fuck my life.
I’m already dressed like a dork, the last thing I want to do is stand around here gaping like one, too. So I paste a smile on my face and wander a little deeper into the suite.
There’s a huge buffet set up along one wall, filled with everything from typical game food like hot dogs and nachos to more high-end food like seafood and roast be