Page 120 of It Happened on a Sunday
I hate that she’s meeting my sisters and agent without me there, but I have no doubt abuela Ximena will monopolize Sloane’s attention anyway. Ideally, the rest of them won’t be able to get a word in edgewise.
I settle down on the bench in front of my locker, grinning when Marquis and Drew both give me the nod of approval. Not that I need it, but it’s nice to know they think we’re solid.
“What’d she get you?” Tyson asks from his spot on my right.
“Not sure.” I pull out the fancy paper at the top, then peer into the bag. But as soon as I see what she got me, I crack up.
Because Sloane Walker, Black Widow and smart-ass extraordinaire, has bought me what I’m pretty sure is the tiniest pair of men’s black leather underwear in existence. The fact that it has my face on the front and TOUCHDOWN! in huge letters across the back waist strap is pretty much the pièce de résistance of our little competition.
“What’s got you laughing your fool head off?” Marquis asks, brows raised.
“No way.” I slide the bag behind my back. If the guys get a load of these, I’ll spend the rest of the season finding leather G-strings in my locker, in the ball room, up the flagpole…
Bad move. I sparked his interest. Marquis grins, about to make a dive for me, I’m certain of it—but before he can, Coach walks in.Hell yeah. Saved by the pep talk.
I grab my phone and text Sloane.
Me:Where did you find these?
Sloane:Turns out there’s a naughty little corner ofthe internet dedicated to all things NFL.
Sloane:Also, I win
Me:Can I assume you have a matching pair?
Sloane:I do
Sloane:Win the game and you just might see them
Because just the thought of Sloane in an itsy-bitsy black leather G-string—preferably without my face on it, if I’m being honest—has a pretty good chance of distracting me, I banish any and all ideas of what’s going to happen once I get her back to my house and focus on the standard speech/prayer Branson delivers before every game.
When he’s done, I tuck my present into the corner of my locker before grabbing my helmet and mouth guard and filing down the hallway with the rest of the guys.
“Don’t worry,” Drew tells me as he claps me on the back. “We’ve got you covered out there.”
I give him a look. “I thought that was a given.”
He grins. “Just sayin’, it would be a real shame to see you get your ass kicked in front of your girl.”
“I appreciate it.” I laugh back as we walk out of the tunnel and into the sunlight.
“And,” Marquis tells me as we hit the field, “we’ll handle Grant’s sorry ass, too.”
“Fuck yeah, we will,” Drew agrees.
I nod my thanks, and then we fall silent, because it’s go time. One look at the already pissed-off defense tells me I’m going to need every ounce of protection my guys can provide.
Game fucking on.
Chapter 50
Sloane
“This way, Ms. Walker,” one of the Twisters security guards says as he escorts us up a wide flight of stairs.
I’m currently surrounded by huge men in black polo shirts—not just Marco, G, and Jaime but at least half a dozen guys from stadium security as well. I’m tempted to tell them it’s overkill, but the last thing I want is for something to happen that interferes with the game.
So I just follow along with my mouth shut as I try to soak in as much of the experience as possible while encased on all sides by men who outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds each.
