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“Wanna go to the concession stand with me and get snacks?” he asks her.
“Oh, my god, snacks are my love language,” she says, standing. “Plus, my butt needs a break from these bleachers. What does everyone want?”
Summer and Chase decide to go with them, to help carry everyone’s orders, and I stand to stretch my legs. I’m used to standing all day, so sitting for this long makes my legs cramp up.
“You’re the perfect height,” Ryan says, pulling me between his legs and wrapping his arms around my waist. I’m not that much taller than him, and he’s still sitting down. “I’m really glad you came.”
“Me, too. I needed this.” I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him. “How was the rest of your day?”
“Productive.” He lets me go when I pull away and take my seat next to him. “When is your next day off?”
“I decided to be closed on Monday,” I reply. “I need the break, and that’s usually a slow day anyway. I want to put my goodies away from Paris and admire my kitchen the way it should be admired.”
“You definitely need to do that,” he agrees.
“How about if you and Jake come for dinner? Wait, you come earlier than that, any time you’re free, and we’ll have Jake meet us at my place for dinner.”
“We’d love that.”
Brady, Abbi, and the others arrive with their arms full of goodies, and Abbi passes me my popcorn.
“Thanks,” I reply with a grin and watch as Brady glances down to check out Abbi’s butt.
Well, well, well.
“I got a hotdog!” Daisy grins adoringly up at Brady. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Brady boops her on the nose, making Daisy laugh, and halftime is over.
“Here we go, dogs!” I yell as our guys take the field. We get the ball first.
The quarterback snaps the ball and jogs back. Jake’s open, so the ball is passed to him. He catches it and runs for the end zone.
We all rush to our feet, yelling and cheering as Jake makes the touchdown. He runs back to his teammates and jumps into them in celebration.
“That’s my boy!” Ryan yells, pointing. “That’s my kid.”
In the next play, our team intercepts the ball, prompting more elation and cheering, and then Jake takes the field once more.
This time, he’s open again, but when he catches the ball, he’s immediately tackled.
Hard.
When the other boy stands, Jake doesn’t get up with him, and I cover my mouth with my hands, my eyes glued to Jake.
“Get up,” I whisper. “Oh, Jesus, get up, baby.”
“He’s okay,” Joy says, taking my hand in hers reassuringly, and I cling to her as Ryan rubs a big circle on my back.
“I need him to get up.”
Finally, I see Jake nod, and someone offers him a hand and helps him to his feet. The crowd applauds as Jake walks to the sidelines. He waves up at us, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief.
“Thank Christ,” I mutter.
“It’s always nerve-wracking watching the boys you love get beat up on the field,” Joy says with a knowing smile. “But they’re tough.”
“I’m gonna hunt that kid’s mom down and have words with her.”
