Page 70 of Happy Krampus Xmas & the Meet Not Cute
I pull my red knit hat lower on my forehead as he places the warm checkered fabric on our laps. “Do you have a stalker kit in there?” I joke.
“No, but that’s an idea.” He taps his black and red nail on his chin. “You look nervous, what gives?”
“What if his team loses? Will he ask me to come to another game or label me a jinx and?—”
He stops my rambling by placing his whole hand over my face, which I promptly swat away.
“Have you suffered a recent blow to the head?” He rolls his eyes at me.
“Hey, nutso! Words hurt,” I retort with a glare.
“Oh, sorry,” he says with a voice too sweet for my liking. “Have you suffered a recent blow to the head?” he repeats using a feign cheery tone. “Come on! That’s the only explanation. You’ve been doing the dance with no pants with the quarterback for weeks now and revealed it to me only yesterday.”
“Tackle,” I correct him. “TJ is a defensive tackle. Of that, I’m sure. I wrote it down, see?” I take off my glove and show him my palm.
“I have a two-part question for you. First, are you kidding me? And second, are you really bloody kidding me?” His high-pitched voice catches a few people’s attention. My glower makes them mind their business again. “I fucking knew it! It’s a Krampus miracle!”
I huff with annoyance. “Stop with this Krampus nonsense.”
He ignores me. “You didn’t fuck the guy I hooked you up with that night because Thor was in the picture already.”
“That’s an asinine nickname,” I comment, doing my best to avoid a reply. The fact that I have feelings for TJ doesn’t mean I want to announce it to the whole stadium.
“Quit with the sophisticated language. You let me write his number on your sodding cheek! Either you are a clone or you are on team whipped-and-owned.”
“Sometimes I don’t listen to you. I just look at your jaw going up and down,” I taunt him.
He ignores me. “Did you show him the dark side of the moon?”
“And that jaw never seems to stop.”
“Straight to Ur-anusand finishing with theMilk-y Way.” He smirks knowingly because his dirty thought train is going in the same direction as mine.
I try, failing, to stifle my smile. “You’re certifiable.”
“And you did all the above. Again. It’s a Krampus miracle. My Spencer-Dancer is happy.”
Yes. I fucking am.
The crowd around us comes alive, cheering and screaming as the Wolves—TJ’s team—starts filing out onto the field. Then I see him running, number fourteen. My soul hums with pure undiluted lust and something else. Something warm and scary that curls my lips up and pushes me to my feet.
He stops in the middle of the field and looks up right in my direction, pointing a finger at me. Embarrassment warms my cheeks as I see the people near me look curiously around andhalt their eyes on me and Lori—who’s jumping up and down, holding his homemade sign high.
“Lord in hell! This is brilliant! I need to post this.” He takes a quick picture of me and then starts tapping on his phone. But I don’t care, my eyes are on TJ joining his teammates in a close circle.
“That’s a huddle,” Lori suddenly says. “The team captain or quarterback usually holds it before each offensive play.”
I raise a questioning brow at him, and in response, he pulls aFootball for Dummiesbook out of his Mary Poppins bag.
“The only thing I knew about football was how comfortable jockstraps are. I needed to educate myself,” he clarifies.
Just when I’m contemplating grabbing the book for a look, someone sits next to me. The smell of expensive cologne makes me turn their way, and I freeze. It’s TJ’s father, Taylor William Francis Moore the Third—I might have googled him after I saw him with TJ two days ago.
Stiff back, sour expression, and cold eyes. Can’t believe he’s TJ’s father.
“You know who I am, correct?” he utters in a superior tone, eyes on the football field.
“You’re talking to me therefore you know whoIam,” I reply with the same tone. He must be here to see me since TJ said that his father never comes to watch him play.
