Page 42 of The Wiener Across the Way

I smiled and gave him a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ve got moves you haven’t even seen yet. Let me handle it.”

I quickly messaged Penelope. She’d flown down with me and was ready for this.

Secure that venue for post-game celebration. Make it exclusive. Can we send out a message to the Mustangs and their partners?

Penelope was a miracle worker. I didn’t even know how she made half the stuff happen that she did. A fairy godmother wand or something. Within minutes, she texted back.

All set. Private rooftop at Manniway's. Security in place. Cowgirl network already spreading the word to players and PALs.

I showed the message to Declan who lost his forehead with how impressed he was. “Wow, that was fast.”

I winked at him. “Welcome to my world. Let’s show them how to celebrate a win, shall we? Wait, what’s the Cowgirl network and PALs?”

“The partners and lovers of Mustangs players. They call themselves the Cowgirls.”

I snort-laughed. “Because cowgirls ride mustangs?”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me. “They sure do.”

Penelope had a black SUV waiting outside the players’ entrance to the stadium. We’d waited around inside long enough that there were only a few paparazzi and fans still holding out for us. I waved to them as he escorted me to the car, and when a couple of the photographers got a little too close before I was in and the doors were shut, Declan growled at them. Like a bear.

God that was hot.

Stop it, lady libido. Enough with the thinking every single thing he did was hot.

When we arrived at the place, Declan told the driver to go around back and then pointed out where my security coulddiscreetly usher us in. “You’ve been here? I thought you weren’t a partier.”

“This is a steakhouse owned by Denver’s former quarterback Johnston Manniway and his wife, Marie. He just opened it at the end of the summer. It’s not a club, but it is a hot spot for local celebrities.” He placed his hand right at the spot on my lower back that had my body going into high alert at that single touch. “Your assistant chose perfectly. They know how to keep raving fans at bay, while also not making them feel like they don’t matter.”

The private rooftop buzzed with excitement and was already filled with Mustangs players and their partners. These people knew how to respond to a party invitation. I saw Trixie and waved to her. She motioned me over to the circle of women she was with. “Oh, you must be the Cowgirls.”

A man wearing a Mustangs t-shirt as if it was a fashion-statement and not sports paraphernalia, standing on the edge of the circle, raised his hand. “I’m a cowboy and also a big fan.”

A woman who was just a smidge older than the rest of the group and was so freaking classy looking in a flowy shirt, belt, and pressed trousers, I was incredibly jealous, pulled the young man into the group and kept her arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Yes, you are, and we’re all a little bit jealous you’ve taken our handsome safety out of the running for most the eligible Mustang.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Yes, but he’s still in the running for best butt. Just saying.”

There were a lot of head nods and murmurs of agreement, and it was clear on at least half the faces that they were thinking about said butt in a fond but lustful manner.

Trixie cleared her throat and brought everyone’s attention back from football buttsville.

“Everyone, while she probably needs no introduction, this is Kelsey Best. Kelsey this is everyone.” Trixie introduced the women in the circle one by one. I repeated them all in my head to try and remember as many of them as I could. “And this is Marie Manniway, our de facto head cowgirl.”

The classy woman extended her hand to me. “Nice to meet you, Kelsey. Now tell us about this little showmance you’re having with our boy Declan.”

Uh. “Showmance?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” She didn’t smile and tapped her well-manicured nails along her silky shirt sleeve. “I’m asking if this is for show, or if the lovey dovey eyes you were making at him during the game are real.”

Gulp.

“Girl,” another woman in the group, whose name was maybe Kierra, pointed at me, grinning. “No way this is fake. She’s got it bad, he’s got it bad, and we’ve all got it bad for how bad they’ve got it.”

“Wait,” the woman standing next to her said, “is that bad?”

Cowboy lifted his phone and showed a video posted by the League of American Football on FlipFlop that showed me in the Kingman suite, cheering and indeed making eyes directed toward the field. Although I wouldn’t have said I was thinking lovey dovey thoughts at that moment. More like I was eye-fucking Declan from all the way at the top of the stands.

“We all saw it, clear as day. As did, let’s see,” he glanced at his phone and snorted, “so have one-point-eight million other people so far today.”

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