Page 68 of The Player

“What are they doing? Take him out,” she yelled when he headed back onto the field.

Bailey laughed. “You’re so bossy.”

“I’m concerned about his health.”

“The coaches cannot hear you, Nicole.”

“That is not the point.”

When Drew finally came off and stayed off, she settled back into the couch. The broadcast caught him talking with the backup going in for him, then showed him beside the bench with his helmet in one hand. He was still following the game, pointing toward the field as one of his teammates leaned over to listen.

By the time the clock ran out, Bailey had abandoned her crust on the coffee table and Nicole had nearly lost her voice. They watched the players meet at midfield, some shaking hands, others pulling each other into brief hugs. Then the picture cut to Drew near the sideline with a reporter beside him.

Nicole stopped reaching for the last slice of pizza. Drew had taken off his helmet, leaving his hair damp. His jersey was streaked with grass and dirt, and sweat shone on his forehead and ran down his neck. While the reporter spoke, he dragged a hand over his hair, only for a few strands to fall forward again.

Nicole pulled the loose cuff of his sweatshirt over her fingers. Damn, that boy was fine.

The reporter held the microphone toward him. Drew’s expression was serious as he started answering, but then one corner of his mouth lifted, and there it was—that cocky little grin he wore when he knew damn well he had done something impressive. The reporter asked another question. Drew answered, but Nicole couldn’t have repeated a single word. She was too busy watching his mouth.

“Nikki.”

“Huh?”

Bailey leaned forward and waved a hand in front of her face. “You haven’t heard a word that man said, have you?”

“Not one.”

Bailey cracked up. “At least you’re honest.”

“Can you blame me? Look at him.”

Bailey looked at the television again. “Okay, no. But you’re about three seconds away from crawling inside that TV.”

“I have more self-control than that.”

Bailey pinched the sleeve hanging over Nicole’s hand. “You’re wearing his sweatshirt.”

“That has nothing to do with self-control.”

“You smelled the sleeve during the third quarter.”

Nicole’s mouth fell open. “No I didn’t.”

Bailey nodded slowly. “You absolutely did.”

“I was wiping my nose.”

“With the cuff of your boyfriend’s sweatshirt?”

Nicole glanced down at the sleeve. “It’s soft.”

Bailey snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Nicole reached for the last slice of pizza. She wasn’t about to explain that there was barely any of Drew’s scent left in the fabric and she’d been trying to find it. Bailey had enough to work with.

On-screen, Drew glanced toward something beyond the camera and laughed at whatever one of his teammates shouted. The reporter tried to bring his attention back, but he was still grinning. Nicole smiled around her bite. Look at her man.

“You’re doing it again,” Bailey said.