Fumbled (Playbook #2)(45)

Not cocky.

Sweet and hopeful. Like I’m not the only person wanting to cross this line, wanting to pretend we don’t have years of strife to overcome, that right here, we’re just like every other couple happy to see each other . . . to touch each other.

He tilts his head to the side, silently asking for permission. In answer, I lift my chin and roll onto my toes. His lips part, showing off the smile I know braces perfected, right before he drops his head, touching his mouth to mine in one soft, perfect kiss that causes my knees to go weak.

“You looked good out there,” I say, once I’ve caught my bearings.

“Thanks.” His hand lingers on my back and I’m not eager for the contact to end. “Did you have fun?” He’s watching me, concern evident. I guess talk of some of the cattier wives gets around.

“I actually had a lot of fun.” I continue on when he lifts a single, disbelieving eyebrow at me. “No, really.” I point to Vonnie, who’s having a very animated conversation with her husband. “I sat with Vonnie and Charli, they’re hilarious. We’re actually getting together Sunday and watching the game.”

He drops his eyebrow, but I can’t read his expression anymore. A thought that hadn’t crossed my mind all day pops in. We aren’t a couple—what if he doesn’t want me making friends with these people? They are his co-workers, after all.

“Shoot.” I wince. “I don’t have to go over there if you don’t want. I know we haven’t really discussed details, but I don’t want to overstep any boundaries here. This is your work and I—”

TK cuts me off by dropping his mouth to mine once more. Out of all the interrupting techniques in the world, I have to say, I find his kisses the most enjoyable and effective.

“Go.” He says the one small word like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe.

“But they’re your teammates’ family—”

“Poppy, are you or are you not my girl?” he asks, cutting me off. “If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here. You’re here because I want you making friends with my friends. I want our lives to become so intertwined we can’t figure out where one starts and the other ends. I want you and Ace around as much as I can have you around. I want you both.”

Oh my god.

Did he just ask me to be his girlfriend?

“Did you just ask me to be your girlfriend?” I try to bite back the smile threatening to consume my face . . . and fail miserably. “I mean, last time you asked, you wore your best button-up and khakis. Is sweaty and kind of bossy your new version of romantic?”

“Poppy.” He says my name like he’s already regretting making me his girlfriend. “Are you going to make me grovel in front of my teammates? Because if you do, I’m pretty sure they’ll never let either one of us live it down.”

“Well, lucky for you, I appreciate the sweaty, shirtless method.” I let my eyes take him in, in all his glory once more. “So, okay. I guess I’ll be your girlfriend.”

I feel the heat creep up my cheeks, and I don’t know if it’s from suddenly feeling shy or flustered by how good he looks standing in front of me.

“Okay,” he repeats, moving a mass of curls out of my face. His smile is so bright that, even with the beard, I swear I can see that lone dimple on his left cheek. He starts to lean down again, but this time he’s the one interrupted.

“TK!” Ace yells, bolting across the field and hurtling his little body into TK, probably hitting him harder than some of his teammates did today. “You were awesome out there! That one catch? Holy cow! You went up so high and with one hand!” Ace jumps up, doing his best imitation of his new hero. “It was so cool, you have to teach me!”

“Thanks, dude.” TK rumples Ace’s curls, the same look of pride I have whenever I’m near Ace or hear his name written all over his face. And if anybody had questions about these two, they’re answered in this moment. “You have to come over to my place. I have a football launcher in my backyard so I can practice without having a quarterback. I’ll tell you all the family tricks, but you can’t tell anyone . . .” He bends down and leans into Ace’s ear conspiratorially. “Only us Moore men can know the secrets of greatness.”

Ace doesn’t say anything, he just stares at him, jaw slack, eyes wide, as if Jesus himself had just appeared on this field and told him all of life’s greatest secrets.

“Ace!” Jett yells across the field with his hands on his hips, not at all impressed by TK or the other Mustang players making their way to the locker room. “Come on! I can’t let my loser brothers win!”

“Jett Damon Lamar, you better not let me catch you calling your brothers losers again!” Vonnie booms out. Not only is her tone one not to be questioned, but she used his full name.

Not stupid, Jett is quick to shout, “I won’t. Sorry, Mom.”

“Can I go play?” Ace asks TK.

“Course, dude.” TK leans in again, whispering just loud enough for Vonnie and Justin to hear, “But you better not let Jett’s loser brothers win.”

Justin barks out a quick burst of laughter. Vonnie, on the other hand, does not look amused. “You see?” She looks at me. “You see why my boys are so crazy? They have these big-ass man-children egging them on. And that one”—she aims a pointed-tip fingernail TK’s way—“is the biggest jokester of all. You sure you want to deal with all of that?”