Page 51 of Scoring Eden

As per Brynn’s advice, Macon should stay in the family suite during the game. Hidden safely behind reflective glass, my son chomps down on a hot dog, happily oblivious to whatever is happening on the pitch—which, as of right now, is only warm-up drills.

“My God, I thought watching hot men run around in shorts would be way more fun than this.” Aspen collapses down into a plush, theater-style seat with a huff.

She’s right.

Watching players dribble a ball around some cones while a balding man blows a whistle at them is surprisingly tedious.

Brynn, who’s changed into Leo’s jersey and now wears the number seven across her back, grins. “Don’t worry. It gets more interesting.”

“Really?” My sister raises a brow.

Brynn wrinkles her nose. “Well, it does if they’re winning. It sucks for everyone if they lose.”

I look through the ceiling-high window that overlooks the pitch and try to find Alex amongst the sea of men.

“Look for number seven.” Brynn nudges me, standing and dusting off her jersey. “I’m going pitch-side for a minute to kiss Leo good luck. He gets real pissy if I don’t. You wanna come with?”

And have nearly a hundred thousand people staring at me? No thanks.

I shake my head. “I’m good here.”“I wasn’t really asking.” She rolls her eyes. “Come on. Alex Wolfe has just hard-launched his new girl, so all the fans are gonna be desperate to get their eyes on her.”

Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.

When I was considering the deal with Alex, I spent so much time thinking about how the public exposure would affect my son that I forgot to think about how it might affect me.

But it’s too late to ponder on it, because Brynn grabs my hand and drags me out the door to the grandstands. She doesn’t slow her pace as we fly down the stairs, uncaring that I’m one slip away from a bone break. It’s only once we’re pressed against the barrier that she finally releases me.

In fact, the moment she glimpses her husband, she forgets about me entirely.

Like beacons drawn to one another, Leo zeroes in on her. He lights up like a damn firework, an enormous smile splitting his face, and I wonder what it must be like to be on the receiving end of such bold and obvious love.

I wonder if I’ll ever get to find out for myself.

Leo breaks away from the group he’s with and nudges Alex to follow him. I do my best to keep my heartbeat in check as he jogs toward me, strands of hair slipping free from his signature topknot.

His cleats squeak to a stop on the turf. The cold has stained his cheeks red, making his impeccably straight teeth appear an even brighter white. It’s almost unnatural how perfect they are. Scratch that. It’s definitely unnatural. He’s paid for those choppers, I’m sure of it.

“Do you have veneers?”

He chuckles. “Hello to you too, beautiful.”

“Well, do you?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I may have taken a trip to Turkey in my early twenties.”

Of course he did.

“You’re judging me, aren’t you?”

I leave the question unanswered. It isn’t that I’m judging him; it’s just that knowing his mouth costs more than my monthly rent is a sobering reminder of how utterly unequipped I am to be doing this with him.

It doesn’t help that he’s frowning as he takes in my outfit—a red sweater and light-wash jeans embroidered with little pink cherries.

“What are you wearing?”

I look down at myself. I didn’t think what I’d picked out this morning was particularly egregious, and I’d even taken into account his team colors, but given the borderline annoyance on his face, I must have missed something fundamental.

“You’re not wearing my jersey.”