Fumbled (Playbook #2)(44)

“Oh yes,” Charli says, seeing what must be a look of complete horror on my face. “Some of the Mustangs Kids Club parents are insane. Listening to them go nuts is a yearly tradition for me. Kind of like hanging the stockings at Christmas, except instead of the promise of Santa, these poor children will get a visit from a therapist.”

“Is it really that serious?” I ask, staring out at the crowd, trying to find poor Ayden’s crazy dad.

“To some of these people, absolutely,” Vonnie answers for Charli. “Come on, let’s take these boys to run off the rest of their energy on the field.”

“That’s allowed?”

“Trust me,” Vonnie says, pulling me toward the tent exit, where Ace and her boys are trembling with excitement. “The personnel here are amazing. And they know a happy wife is a happy player. They keep them away from us for three weeks, so they know better than to limit our access when we do have a chance to see them.”

“All righty then.” I nod my head, not willing to go against Vonnie in anything. “Would you mind Ace going down with you? I think I’m just gonna hang back here.” You know, out of the sightline of thousands of Mustang fans.

“No, you’re coming with me.” She tugs my hand. “I need someone to talk to, otherwise a fan is going to call me over and rope me into a conversation I don’t want to be in.”

“Fine,” I grumble, sounding an awful lot like Ace does when he doesn’t get his way.

“You girls have fun. I already warned Shawn the only place he’d find me is in my air-conditioned car.” Charli waves us off.

“See you soon.” I wave back, feeling a foreign sensation of excitement thinking about our upcoming plans.

“Go, boys.” Vonnie gives all four boys the permission they’ve been craving and they dart down the small set of steps and onto the field. Jagger, Vonnie’s seven-year-old, and the most experienced training camp veteran, runs to the sideline and snags a couple of footballs for them to play with. They all take off to the field opposite us, where the two kickers aren’t practicing drilling the ball through goalposts.

The hot Colorado sun and dry summer air grope my sunscreen-less body. I dig my knockoff sunglasses out of my cross-body purse. I might have a nasty sunburn later, but maybe the glasses will stop all the wrinkles caused by squinting too hard from permanently settling on my face.

Vonnie and I are talking about a lot of nothing, watching the kids running around, when a pair of strong hands settle on my hips.

“Sparks,” TK says before turning me to face him.

I saw TK Moore running around on the field. His thick thighs flexing with his long strides as he raced down the sideline and leapt into the air with heights that defied gravity, his ass looking like a shelf in those padded white pants. But here, only inches in front of me, I see TK.

I see the same TK who would run to me after every high school football game, his green eyes alight, happiness almost tangible. And a pang of longing, of sadness at missing out on years of his career, sharing this joy with him, shoots through my heart.

His hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, and even though I know it’s brown, it looks black from either sweat or water dumped on his head . . . probably sweat. His beard is noticeably longer and scruffier than it was just a few days ago, and even though I know he’s sweaty and smelly, all I want is to feel it under my fingertips and against my face. He’s never pale, but his skin is noticeably more tan since I last saw him, though Ace and I still have quite a few shades on him.

But it’s his jersey and shoulder pads in his hands, leaving his chest and abs exposed, keeping me tongue-tied. I don’t know if he really has no clue what he looks like topless or if he’s messing with me to get a reaction, but I don’t think I could summon the energy to care either way. He’s not flexing, yet his abs are on full display. All six, hell, maybe eight of them carved out of stone underneath his tan skin glistening with the sweat of a hardworking man. Covered by just a sprinkling of chest hair trailing off under the waistband of his pants settled so low on his hips, the sexy V of his is summoning me to the promised land.

All in all, he’s a freaking masterpiece.

“Poppy,” he says, his voice shaking with laughter. “My eyes are up here.”

“Yeah.” I glance up at him, not even a tiny bit ashamed to be caught ogling him. “But the rest of you is down here.”

“Well.” He steps in closer, letting his equipment fall to the ground behind him. “Can’t say I’m not happy you’re enjoying the view.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, but I don’t deny it. I don’t know if it’s the sun or TK making me so much hotter, I just know the pull to touch the man in front of me is too strong to ignore.

“You look good.” His voice drops to a whisper even though the screams of the fans calling out for autographs make it impossible for anyone else to hear our conversation. “I almost fell over when I saw you walk down the steps in these.” His fingers graze the tops of my thighs right where my white denim shorts stop.

“These are the only shorts I have.”

“Lucky for me, I guess.” One of his hands moves to my lower back, pulling me in so close I can feel his sweat dampen my tank top.

“Good.” I exhale the word.

TK’s lips curve up into a knowing smile.