Page 59 of Love at Teamsgiving
I get to my feet, but instead of leaving, which is exactly what I want to do—or hide in the bathroom forever, also an appealing option—I take the plate with the chicken sandwich and trade it for my cheeseburger, even though he already ate half of it.
I’m not sure what kind of statement I’m trying to make, but he’s right. We can’t keep fighting like this. There’s no point, but if I don’t use my mouth to fire verbal bullets his way, I’m afraid of what I’ll do with it instead—what I want, and that might lead to having my heart broken ... again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After we’re done eating,Leah and I walk back to the salon, and she asks, “So what do you think of Grimaldi?”
“That he’s cut from the same cloth as Miguel.”
“The handsome cloth?”
I shrug. “That’s debatable, depending on who you ask.”
She smirks. “I’m going to wear his jersey tonight and see what happens. You should wear one too, just to tick him off.”
I go still on the sidewalk outside the salon. “Leah, you’re diabolical, I love it.”
She winces. “I meant Cruz’s, not Grimaldi,” she says in aduhtone.
“Oh. I won’t be wearing a jersey with number ninety-four on it.”
A low, rumbly voice comes up from behind me. “You will.”
I whip around and face Miguel on the sidewalk.
If I were a pat of butter, I’d melt right now. The wind sweeps through his hair, his eyes are dark, and the shadow he casts feels bigger today. I cannot peel my eyes away.
“I’ll just leave you two love birds to duke this out,” Leah says, scurrying off.
I say a weak goodbye because Miguel captivates me, captures me, and keeps me locked in place.
“I don’t have one of your jerseys.” Except I do. Well, not from the Knights, yet. I have one from each of the teams he’s played for. My mother got them for me. I should’ve burned them in effigy.
He shoves something soft in my hand.
“I don’t want it.” But I take it anyway.
“Wear it.”
“Miguel, you know me better than anyone?—”
“So you admit it?”
I don’t dignify the answer because that’s not the point. “You’re aware that I don’t take orders.”
He lengthens his spine. “Junie, I would like you to please wear my jersey tonight.”
“And betray my home team?”
“This is your home now.”
“But fans move and remain loyal no matter what.”
“Exactly.” He holds my gaze, unwavering.
It takes me a long moment to understand what he means—our connection is stronger than that of a team, so I should remain faithful to him.
I always was and so was he. Well, romantically. But loyalty comes in many forms—to never betray someone’s trust, to keep what they tell you in confidence, to have their back.
