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 wer
e 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.