Game for Tonight (18 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Fourth quarter. Less than two minutes to go, and the Hawks were up by three. Three.

Three was not enough. Aubrey thought she was going to lose her mind, watching this game. She’d already picked off all the polish from her fingernails, Hawks blue fluttering to the ground in little flakes all around her.

And that had been only in the first quarter.

She was so tense she thought she would shatter if someone so much as looked at her. Flynn was playing a perfect game. He couldn’t get any better than he already was. His biggest problem? The opposing team was good.

Damn good.

“Nice touch, you wearing Foley’s number,” Harvey had told her just before the game began. “How’d you grab one? I know they weren’t selling them in the gift shops here.”

“I’ve always been wearing it,” she’d admitted, feeling like an idiot. She didn’t know what had possessed her at first to put Flynn’s jersey on this morning as she’d gotten ready. But the moment she’d seen her reflection in the mirror, the number fifteen on her chest, she’d known.

This was her way of telling Flynn that she missed him.

And then it all just fell into place. Now she looked like Flynn’s number-one fan, and she was perfectly fine with that. She didn’t care who saw her wearing his jersey. When she’d first arrived at the stadium, she’d figured no one would pay attention to her. She could sit in the luxurious box provided to the organization, endure Willow’s teasing for wearing the Foley jersey like the pitiful, lovesick idiot she was, and watch the game.

Instead, she’d become the lead publicist in this event, Harvey deferring to her. A few reporters had asked how she was feeling with Flynn starting, and their questions had thrown her.

Then she’d realized they still believed the relationship was going strong. That Flynn and Aubrey were still a thing. So she’d said the first thing that had come to her mind.

“I’m so proud of him and know he’ll do a great job. Football is his passion, and I’m sure he’ll give this game everything he’s got.”

She’d meant every word, and she knew they were pleased with her answer. But then they’d moved on, wanting to talk about Flynn’s skills, his stats, his throwing arm, all the stuff he’d always wished they’d talked about versus his sex life, his love life, his bench-warming status.

For once he was getting everything he wanted. And she couldn’t help but wonder where—or if—she fit in with his life.

“They’re going to score.” Willow settled in beside her, her voice ragged, her gaze locked on the field below them. “Damn it, they’re going to kick a field goal and tie the game.”

Aubrey closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch, couldn’t speak. All she could do was hope the kicker swung his leg wide and kicked the damn ball to the side. Or maybe he’d slip at the last minute and the ball would land before the goalposts, not between them.

Wish, wish, wish.

“Shit!” Willow yelled, and Aubrey’s eyes popped open to watch the crowd go insane, their roars earsplitting, even within the confines of the box.

The game was now tied. With one minute and twenty seconds to go.

“It’s our ball next,” Aubrey said to reassure her friend, to reassure herself. They didn’t have much time. The clock was just ticking away, and they needed to drive the ball down the field fast. “They’ll score. At least another field goal, and then it’s done.”

“Or we go into overtime.” Willow visibly shuddered. “I can’t take this. I don’t think I can watch it much longer.”

“Are you leaving?” Aubrey asked incredulously.

“Of course not.” Willow rolled her eyes. “Nick would kill me if I missed a glory moment. They’ve got to win this.”

“They will.” Aubrey brought her hand to her mouth and nibbled on her thumbnail. As a kid, she’d been a total nail biter and had broken the habit before she’d gone into middle school because,
eww
, gross. Junior-high girls were mean, and they would’ve torn her to pieces over her nasty habit.

But now she was tearing her nails to pieces with her teeth, and it was weirdly reassuring. It gave her something to do besides pace and worry and fret.

Oh, wait. She was doing that, too.

“Your boy is playing like a god,” Willow said, her voice dripping with admiration. “He’s going to look like such a superstar when this is all over, whether they win or not. The media will eat him up and not in a bad way.”

“They will win,” Aubrey said again, more firmly this time, fighting down the pride that swarmed through her at Willow’s words, but it was no use. She couldn’t contain the smile that stretched her lips. “He is playing pretty well, huh?”

“Pretty well? That’s an understatement. He’s like a machine out there. His passes are scarily accurate.”

They were. Everything about him was scarily accurate out on that field. The grim determination she saw on his face told her he was playing with everything he had.

No surprise there. Just like everything else he did, he threw his all into it. She couldn’t help but remember their moments together. The naked moments and how focused he’d been then to bring her pleasure. But there were the other moments, too, when they’d just hung out and talked. How she’d gotten him to loosen up and realize there was more to life out there than football.

Maybe he’d backtracked on that thought, considering where he was at this particular moment.

Willow rose to her feet and walked toward the glass wall, then halted behind the owner, Charlie Monroe, and his family and guests. Aubrey stood, as well, stopping next to Willow to watch.

A timeout had been called, and Aubrey’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I can’t take this, either.”

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving,” Willow said drolly. “Isn’t this your job, Miss Hawks Publicist?”

She liked how the assistant had been officially dropped from her title. She was no longer an assistant publicist, working under Harvey. And he’d proved he thought of her as an equal by letting her handle the tremendously tense situation of Quinn leaving the game today. Did he know how much she appreciated that? Was this his way of apologizing for being such an ass and threatening her job?

Probably.

“Oh God!” Willow was a shouter when it came to watching the games. She made Aubrey jump every single time she yelled. “I think they’re going to try to run it.”

Aubrey watched the field, her gaze zeroed in on Flynn. Her heart was in her throat, and her pulse hammered through her veins, buzzing in her ears and brain. She felt faint.
Faint.
All over a freaking football game. Everything was on the line. The entire season came down to this one final moment, and it was all on Flynn’s broad shoulders to carry it through.

She didn’t know how he could take it.

Willow’s phone dinged with a text, and with a mumbled curse, she pulled her iPhone out of her pocket, her eyes going wide when she read the message. “Sheridan’s okay,” she breathed, lifting her head so their gazes met.

Relief made Aubrey’s head spin. She didn’t know if she could take much more. “That’s good news,” she said weakly.

Another message pinged through, and Willow muttered, “You gotta be kidding me.”

“What?” Aubrey shook her arm, her eyes glued to Flynn as he threw a ball out-of-bounds. Not so scarily accurate.

She really needed to stop thinking like that.

“She’s going to have twins,” Willow whispered. “They did an ultrasound.
Twins.
” She burst out laughing and shook her head. “Figures Jared would shoot double.”

Charlie Monroe took that particular moment to turn around and study them both. “What did you say, young lady?” Half the time Aubrey figured Charlie didn’t recognize the majority of the players’ wives and girlfriends, though he should know Willow, since Charlie was friends with her father, Walter.

“Jared Quinn’s wife is fine.” Willow smiled at him. “She’s healthy, but she needs to remain on bed rest for a little while, maybe throughout the entire pregnancy.”

“Did you mention twins?” He swung his head in Aubrey’s direction. “The minute the game is over, you make sure and announce that.”

“Only if Jared gives us permission,” she said, not about to go against the star quarterback’s wishes. This was his private life they were talking about, after all. She didn’t want this situation to turn into a fiasco. He deserved respect. They all did. Even Flynn.

Especially Flynn.

Charlie made a grumpy noise and turned to watch the game once more. They were going to make another play. Another drive down the field. Flynn stood tall, the ball in his hand, over his head as he prepared to send it flying through the air, and Willow grabbed hold of her, smashing her face against Aubrey’s shoulder.

“I can’t watch,” Willow said, though Aubrey knew without a doubt she was definitely watching.

And so was she.

…

Flynn threw the ball, his gaze never leaving it as it sailed through the air…

And landed in Nick Hamilton’s wide-open hands.

He turned and ran, while Flynn bounced on his feet as he watched. The clock was ticking, the crowd was going wild, and all the air was stuck in Flynn’s throat as Hamilton plowed through the defensive linemen, his legs eating up the yardage when he ran straight into the end zone.

And scored a touchdown.

“Fuck yeah!” Flynn roared as he started running down the field. He had to go grab Hamilton and give him some love, because that play had been amazing. They’d scored with less than fifteen seconds on the clock. This was it. A kick for the remaining point, and they were done.

They’d won the biggest game of the season.

His other teammates slapped him on the back, offering happy shouts, and he yelled back his congratulations, euphoria filling him up and making his chest light. He slowed to a jog, saw that Nick was heading right for him, and they embraced, their shoulder pads knocking against each other. Nick slapped Flynn’s helmet, and Flynn backed away from him, tearing off his helmet so he could look around the stadium.

He wanted to soak up this moment. Savor it. Camera flashes were going off. The crowd was one giant, moving mass of people, some of them booing but the majority of them cheering. Yelling and screaming and bouncing in their seats.

Flynn loved every fucking minute of it. He was grinning so hard his face hurt. He would never forget this moment. Ever.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Nick said with a matching giant grin.

The team went back into formation and the final ball was kicked, giving the Hawks the last point. The moment the game was declared over, the field was flooded with people offering their congratulations, the media coming at him like a swarm, ready to take him over. He talked to a few, nodding and smiling and saying inane things because, holy hell, he could hardly concentrate. His team had just won the freaking Super Bowl.

Someone from NBC approached him and started talking, asking all the usual questions, and Flynn gave him the usual answers. He knew millions of people were watching. Hell, he could hear his voice echoing all over the stadium, since they were broadcasting the interview live to all the Super Bowl attendees, and he hoped he didn’t sound like an idiot. This was his dream, finally come to life, and he hoped his dad saw it. And his mom. Was she crying? Was his dad crying?

Hell, he felt like crying. This was just…unbelievable.

Despite the mass quantity of bodies out on the field, despite trying his damnedest to focus on the questions the interviewer was asking him, a weird, prickling sensation started at the back of Flynn’s neck. Like someone was watching him, which was ridiculous because everyone in the freaking free world was currently watching him.

Slowly he turned his head and glanced over his shoulder to find Aubrey standing not twenty feet from him, looking unsure. Looking beautiful.

She wore his jersey. His number was on the front, and she had on skintight jeans that made her legs look impossibly long. She smiled shyly, hope shining in her eyes, and without thought, he reached out and clutched the reporter by the shoulder, giving him a squeeze, effectively cutting off the interview before it had really even started.

“It’s been an honor, man, but I gotta go. My girl is waiting for me,” he said just before he turned and walked away from the reporter, ignoring the other reporters on the field as they shouted his name, continued to shout questions at him.

He didn’t care. He had eyes only for Aubrey.

“Flynn, you need to go back and finish that interview. You just played an amazing game. Your fans want to hear what you have to say,” she said when he stopped right in front of her.

She was always working, his sweet little publicist. The sudden tension that had been in his chest slowly eased, and he took another step toward her, damn near invading her space. “There’s only one fan I need to hear what I have to say, and that’s you.”

“Flynn—”

“Hear me out. I played the most important game of my life today, but it doesn’t matter unless I know I have you by my side. You’re everything to me, my entire world.” Her eyes glinted with tears, and that was the last thing he wanted to see. “You look damn good, Aub.”

She blinked away the tears, her smile growing. “I’ve got team spirit.”

“You’re wearing my number.” His voice was low as he studied her chest, fascinated by the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath his jersey.

“I am.” She took a deep breath. “You like it?”

“You put it on after you found out I was playing?”

She slowly shook her head. “I put it on first thing this morning. I, um, wanted to show you my support.”

“And show everybody that you’re my girl?” He wanted her back. He needed her back. This was his day. She wouldn’t turn him down. “Did you mean what you said that afternoon? That it was real for you, too? Every bit of it?”

“Yes. It was, Flynn. It still is.” Aubrey wavered a little bit on her feet, like her knees had just gone weak. “I wanted everyone to know that I’m your girl, especially you,” she admitted softly. “For real.”

With zero hesitation, he swung her into his arms, spinning her around and making her squeal. Before she could utter a protest, he sealed his mouth over hers, kissing her long and hard. Putting every bit of love he felt for this woman into the kiss until he finally broke away from her to find her staring up at him with stars in her eyes.