Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 125866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
I had a feeling it was a little more because of the man who played the game than the actual game itself.
But still, this was out of my comfort zone. In a matter of months, I’d gone from a struggling single mom real estate agent with approximately twelve outfits in my closet, to the fiancée of an NFL rookie tight end with more money than God.
I didn’t feel natural walking into that suite after showing our credentials. I didn’t feel like we belonged as we slipped inside the room filled with alcohol and food and chattering friends and family members of the team. I didn’t feel confident as we made our way directly to the seats in front of the tall windows overlooking the field, nor as I tucked my purse under the seat and held my son’s hand as he pressed up onto his toes and stuck his nose to the glass to watch the players warm up.
Even as my heart raced with the discomfort, I smiled in excitement, too.
Especially when Sebastian pointed near the end zone and said, “There he is!”
And there he was.
Kyle Robbins, number eighty-two on the field and number one in my heart.
He looked more focused than I’d ever seen him as he ran drills along with his team. His tall, muscular frame crouched low, feet moving him side to side in quick steps like a crab before he transitioned to the next drill. He was explosive, working his legs in a quick sprint in place before he’d take off down the field a bit and cut left or right. Then, he was jumping straight up into the air in a feat of magic, soaring impossibly high for someone as tall and heavy as he was.
Sebastian and I watched him like he was the only player on that field.
Kyle’s focus was on his teammates and the drills he was running, and I could tell from how he wasn’t even clowning around with his teammates that he was getting in the zone. He loved to fool around. He loved to make jokes and lighten the mood in any room — especially when it came to his team.
But this was game time, and if he was serious about nothing else, he was serious about this.
The clock counted down to kick off, and when there were only about ten minutes left, Kyle started jogging toward the tunnel that led to the team locker rooms.
Only then did his eyes skate up to the suite.
My stomach fluttered with butterflies instead of nausea when I saw the smirk climb on his lips, and he lifted a navy-blue glove-covered hand to wave at us.
Sebastian lost his mind.
“He sees us! He waved to us!” Sebastian jumped up and down and waved with both hands like Kyle was a celebrity.
I don’t think I truly realized, until that very moment, that he actually was.
The game began after the national anthem was sung, and I felt my nerves disappear more and more as the minutes ticked by.
Well, at least, the nerves about me.
Now, all my energy was focused on being nervous for Kyle. I wanted him to win. I wanted him to do well. But more than anything, I didn’t want him to get hurt.
And every time a Philadelphia Eagles player crashed into him or slammed him to the ground, I had to fight to stop myself from shrieking.
Sebastian noticed how I’d grip his hand a little too tight, though, or how I was picking at the skin on my lips as I waited for Kyle to pop back up after each play. Sometime before the end of the first quarter, my son smiled at me, stepping between me and the window view of the field.
“He’s okay, Mom,” he assured me, his voice lilting in a way that told me he was almost embarrassed that I was even worried, as if I were being silly to think he might get hurt by these three-hundred-pound men tackling him to the ground. “This is his job. It’s what he does. He’s got this.”
I blew out a breath and nodded, smiling at my son who was far too smart for his own good before tickling him until he moved out of my way. The first quarter ended with the Eagles ahead seven to zero, and I felt like I was cracking ice off my body as I stood and made my way to get some food and water from the suite’s bar for me and Sebastian.
I was plating some hamburger sliders and chicken tenders — which blessedly didn’t make me want to hurl — when a familiar face strode through the suite entrance.
“Giana?”
I couldn’t hide the surprise or joy in my voice as I set my plate aside just in time to receive a fierce hug from Kyle’s curly-haired friend and agent. She squeezed me so tightly, I felt every inch of her now rather large baby bump, and she beamed up at me when we broke away, her smile dazzling.