That Girl (That Girl, #1)(45)

He’s breathing hard as he takes his helmet off and hands it to an assistant. Grabbing a bottle, he pours the water on his face, and then drinks a little, adjusting his headband to keep his hair back.

Finally, he looks up into the stands and spots me. I begin jumping up and down and swinging my cotton candy around again. I see him laugh, wave, and wink at me, then mouth the words, “Are you okay?”

Enthusiastically, I nod and mouth the word “Pizza” back to him.

“Oakley,” I hear Jewels say, “we are the only ones standing up.”

Turning to look around, sure enough, we are the only ones standing, and on our chairs, no less. Jewels brings down her arm and accidentally elbows me right in the temple, and an instant rush of pain fills me. I grab the spot to find a goose egg size bump.

“Oh my God, did my elbow just do that?” she asks, her eyes wide with concern.

“No,” I answer, stepping down.

“What’s it from? And what the hell happened to your knees?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Tell me,” she insists.

The T.V. commercial break is over, the announcer begins talking, and the teams take the field again. Lincoln is back out there, and I realize the feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t an urge to run. It was nerves for Lincoln.

“What the f*ck happened to you?” Jewels demands again.

I throw out an implausible scenario. “A wiener dog chased me.” I refuse to let any drama or bullshit from Monica ruin this day.

“A wiener dog?” Jewels repeats my lie slowly.

“What? They can be mean little bastards.”

The announcer and crowd noise take over and save my ass from any further scrutiny.

Play after play, Lincoln freaking amazes me with his talent and sheer speed. The boy’s got mad skills. I giggle, imagining his face if I ever used that line on him. Halftime, and the score is fourteen to zero.

The players jog off the field, and before turning to join his team, Lincoln takes his helmet off and holds it up to me. Again I act like a f*cking lunatic jumping all over the place. There’s something about his shaggy hair and lean body jogging across the field holding his helmet. It is the epitome of sexiness.

Jewels is deeply involved in texting someone, and by the looks of it, she’d rather be punching the person in the face. Her fingers are rapid-firing, and her lips are pressed into a tight line.

“Hey, do you think Lincoln bought this cotton candy here?”

Jewels just shakes her head, “Yeah, up at the concessions.”

She doesn’t even look up from her phone to answer me.

I ask, “Everything okay?”

“It’s my dad.”

Question answered.

“I’m going to buy some more. Want anything?” Not like popcorn would help, but I have to offer something.

“A Coke.”

The walk up to the concessions knocks all the air out of me. I didn’t realize how close to the field we were. After stepping into the narrow walkway leading to the vendors, I realize it was a mistake. There are people everywhere pushing and shoving to get to their destinations, and when I spot the line, I know there’s no way in hell I’m waiting in it.

Why did I offer to get Jewels something? Now I feel obligated.

Before throwing the towel in, I spot a teenager carrying a drink container shouting, “Soda!” I wave him down and buy a drink from him.

“Hey, do you know where the closest place to get cotton candy is?”

“If you wait a minute, my buddy is coming with a tray full.”

Well, it was more than a minute, closer to fifteen. Jewels is still full-on finger-fighting on her phone, so I slip her Coke on the ground by her feet and begin to devour my cotton candy. I bought two bags, one for the game and one to take home.

Forty-two to zero, the second half flew by. Lincoln and the defense didn’t leave an inch for the other team to score. It was simply phenomenal.

“My voice is gone,” I manage to squeak out to Jewels.

She grins. “Sign of good fan and great girlfriend.”

My phone goes off as we make our way to Jewels’ car.

“Hello.” I wince at the hoarse sound of my voice.

“Where are you?” Lincoln growls.

“Walking to Jewels’ car.”

“Where’s she f*cking parked?”

“Um, I don’t know. What’s wrong?” Shouldn’t he be happy right now?

“Did you, or did you not walk to the stadium?”

“I walked. Jewels had shit to do. Everything worked out. I’m fine,” I lie.

“I’m f*cking livid. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Stop,” I finally bark into the phone, “I’m fine. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, Oakley. I freaked out when one of the sports medicine guys said he saw you walking.”

“Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad at you, I’m f*cking fuming at the situation. Give the phone to Jewels.”

I hand the phone over to her. I’d warn her, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure she heard every word.

I ignore their conversation, not wanting to know one detail, and wonder how in the f*ck I’m going to lie away the cuts on my knees. Possibly a story about tripping while rushing down the stadium stairs or tripping in the parking lot.