The Game (That Girl, #2)(44)

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Welcome to Denver and to the start of your diabetic journey.”

Lynlee flips me an epic eye roll and hightails it up to the concession stands. Lincoln has had an amazing first half with two picks and ten tackles. I only know his exact stats because of Lynlee standing on her chair most of the game screaming her lungs out and waving her cotton candy. I have to admit her enthusiasm is a bit contagious.

My stomach growls, so I decide to head up to the concession. I shoot Lynlee a quick text in case we miss each other, although I’m pretty sure she’s floating on cloud nine and could care less where I am. After seeing Lincoln play, the only thing I can think of is watching Levi on the field. I bet he’s amazing. The growls from my stomach distract me from thoughts of him.

I spot a chicken pita line that seems shorter than the rest. It’s incredible to watch the droves and droves of fans move between the stadium seating, concession, and the restrooms. Pulling out my phone for the twentieth time, I check it for any signs Levi may be thinking of me today and see nothing. I’ve worn my battery nearly dead by checking it all day.

“You know the service sucks in the stadium with so many people?”

A sweet little lady in front of me strikes up conversation. She’s accompanied by her grandson, who can’t be over the age of eight.

“Oh, thanks.”

“You waiting for someone? I won’t mind if they cut in.”

“Oh no.” I chuckle, only wishing that were the case. “I’m here alone.”

“Big Denver fan?” she asks.

Before I have the chance to answer, her grandson says, “That’s a Wilks jersey, right?”

“Sure is, but I’m kind of a Dallas fan.”

“This girl knows what she’s talking about,” a deep voice from behind interrupts.

The next thing I feel are hands on my hips, which cause me to gasp and scream. I’m instantly in full panic mode, turning to face the stranger. I send my hands straight up in the air and knock the hat off him. He grabs it before it falls completely off his head. I notice the floral pattern and grin.

“Oh my god,” I squeal.

Levi places his fingers over his lips, urging me to be quiet. I jump up into his arms as my tears flow. I pull back a bit and lay a big ol’ kiss on him. I don’t give our lips time to touch and enjoy the feeling. I dive right into him. Still in his arms, I pull back just enough to say, “Le…”

He places his lip back on mine, stopping me from saying the rest of his name, and I realize my almost epic f*ck-up. He laughs against my mouth.

“I missed you,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“No, I like really missed you.”

“It’s almost your turn to order.”

Levi sets me down, and I can barely force myself to face forward and study the menu. Unfortunately, the shocked expression of the elderly lady in front of me is the first thing I notice, and I’m immediately embarrassed from my PDA.

“Take it your friend is a Dallas fan too?” She points at Levi, and for a split second I believe we’re busted.

“Sorry, he doesn’t have any common courtesy when it comes to sports teams,” I reply.

“It’s okay,” the little boy says, raising his shirt to bare his chest, “Dallas is my favorite.” On his chest he has a huge star and the number eleven painted.

“I’m going to be their quarterback when I grow up,” he adds.

Levi grips my hand tighter, and I feel my heart swell three sizes in less than two seconds with the little boy’s words and sweet face. We watch as his grandma ushers him forward. They order their food and slide over to wait for it.

“Wait,” Levi says, “does that lady’s shirt match my hat?”

The lady turns around again and says with a huge smile, “I was going to tell you that you have excellent taste, my dear. I may need to steal your cap to match my blouse.”

I get a case of uncontrollable laughter and try like hell to hold it in, but Levi’s face isn’t making this an easy task. I try to change the subject.

“You hungry?” I ask.

I’m shocked at how well Levi disguised himself, but he really is taking a hell of a chance wearing a Dallas shirt. At least he’s not wearing his number anywhere on him. He’s wearing the famous floral hat, huge aviators, and is dressed like the rest of the sports fans. Except for the wrong team apparel.

“I’m starving,” he whispers into my ear, “but not for a pita.”

I feel his teeth sink into the flesh of my earlobe and have to force back my moan. Ordering food with Levi Wilks discreetly manhandling me is the hardest task I’ve ever completed. I sign the receipt, and we move down by the friends we made.

“Payback is a bitch,” I gently remind Levi while trying to grope every single part of him without being too obvious.

“Hey, you got a marker?” he hollers over to the cashier.

I watch as the cashier tosses him a black Sharpie, and Levi walks up to the little boy, bending down to whisper in his ear. I watch as Levi signs the ball, places his finger over the boy’s lips, and steps back.

“You just stole my heart, you *.”

“That’s one of my favorite parts of my job.”

We stand staring at each other for a few moments, both loaded down with food. I guess I took his hungry comment seriously.