And just like that, I know tonight’s the night to tell her.
A dopey grin spreads on my face. The moles pop up and I don’t bother to hit them.
“I thought you were a Whac-A-Mole pro,” she teases as she eyes the game board.
“I was.” I dart my gaze around the arcade and drop my voice. “Then you walked over, looking like all my dirty dreams.” But she’s so much more than my bedroom fantasies. Gazing into her pretty brown eyes, I add, “And my daydreams.”
Her breath catches. “Same for you,” she whispers.
My body sayskiss her. My heart says to do that too.
The way I feel for her can’t be wrong. It blots out everything—the game, the rules, the team’s image. It erases all the reasons I need to be cautious.
I inch toward her, and her eyes widen to saucer size. I freeze as she raises her chin, and mouths,“Smile for the camera.”
In a split second, I turn and flash a grin at the photographer. Brooke smiles too, and the guy gives us a thumbs-up before he heads off to another group.
“Whew,” she says. “That was close. I’m pretty sure you were trying to kiss me.”
She doesn’t sound mad.
She sounds…enchanted.
“I shouldn’t have. But honey,” I say, meeting her soft gaze, “I’ve got it bad for you.”
Her smile is radiant, full of passion and possibility. “Drew,” she says softly.
“And I really want to find a way for us.”
“A way to what?” she asks, that cautious side of her in full swing.
“You and me,”I mouth.
“You do want that?” she asks, hopeful.
“I do.” I’m about to dive in, right there, and discuss what it’ll take—when Stephen swoops in and shakes my hand. “Great night. Great event. Couldn’t be more pleased. You?”
I nod. “Everything is fantastic.”
The older man glances from Brooke to me and back. Something inquisitive passes through his eyes, and I feel a flurry of nerves, like when I can’t find a receiver and I’m about to get sacked.
Maybe I was getting ahead of myself with my feelings’ confession.
But Stephen’s tone is relaxed as he says, “There’s a soccer player who’s keen for a round of Skee-Ball with the quarterback. She’s eight and very competitive.”
“It is on,” I say, then head to the Skee-Ball games.
A serious blonde in a soccer jersey hands me a ball. “You go first,” Phoebe says with a tone loaded with gravitas.
“Nope. Ladies first,” I say, and with a small smile, Phoebe agrees, taking the ball.
“I’ve been practicing. I go after soccer games. If I don’t become a pro soccer player, I’m going to play Skee-Ball.”
“Those are some excellent goals,” I say.
We play a few rounds, and I do my best to keep it fair. But it’s hard to check my competitive nature at the door.
Then, I play a round with Brooke, and I clobber her. That’s kind of weirdly satisfying. But afterward, she gestures to the exit. “I have a late call with a supplier I need to take from home. But it was good to see you,” she says, and briefly a look passes between us—one that saysit was so good to see you tonight.