Be there in ten. His phone lit up with Sam’s text, and he shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

“So, where’s the wife-to-be?” one of the investors asked him pointedly, yet with a smile. Connor gave the older man with perfectly slicked-back hair his best charming grin.

“Almost here,” he said. “She helped her mother with something this morning.”

After all these years, he could still impress himself with how easily lies rolled off his lips. Especially when inside he was screaming at Sam. Doesn’t she know how many people would kill to be in the owner’s box at a Redskins game?

Why are you in an Uber? he texted her as he took a glass of ale from the waitress assigned just to them.

Car wouldn’t start, don’t know what’s wrong with it, she replied.

He rolled his eyes. Connor had wondered if it would be okay if she drove herself. What would be the harm? It’s not like the investors would see that they arrived separately—and so what if they did? They weren’t married yet.

“I think it’s sweet,” the latest wife of one of the investors said. “You know, that you two aren’t living together until after the wedding.”

“I think it’s stupid,” her husband said. He was a man in his fifties, but Connor had to admit that he did a great job keeping fit. Marathons and cross-state cycling events gave him at least the suggestion that he deserved his wife, who was younger than his children.

“Hi.” He didn’t even have time to turn around before he felt Sam’s hand on his arm. “My apologies. I was—”

“I told them you were helping your mother,” he said, and pulled her close.

“Oh! Thank you, babe,” she said. The waitress was already at her side, a sweating pint on her tray.

“Connor, I have to meet this pretty little thing.” The oldest investor in the box ambled toward them, his hunched back somehow more grotesque given the twenty-two-year-old that was squeezed beside him.

He smiled. “Sam, this is Mr. Edmondson, one of the company’s most revered supporters.”

“He means holder of the company’s deepest pockets,” the old man said. He grinned lustfully at Sam. His eyes lingered at the tiny sliver of skin that was displayed between the tight designer jeans and Redskins jersey knotted above her navel. “You’re lovelier than Connor—and his father—mentioned,” he said. His girlfriend squinted at Sam as she gauged the competition.

Sam smiled graciously and didn’t flinch when he pulled her in for a cheek kiss instead of simply shaking her hand. “This how they make ‘em these days, Connor?” he asked, though his gaze was directed at Sam’s chest in the shiny tight jersey.

“It seems you already know that,” Connor said as he deflected the attention back to Edmondson’s girlfriend.

The old man looked up quizzically, glanced to the tight little blonde at his side and laughed. A full set of brand new, porcelain dental implants shone in the sun. “Right you are,” he said.

Connor pulled Sam against him as he herded her around the box. As they made rounds, his hand slipped naturally to her tiny little waist, and his fingers brushed against the skin of her midriff. He was grateful for the excuse to wear jeans. They did a better job hiding his erection than suit trousers.

“Oh, honey, I hope you don’t have babies too quickly,” one of the wives said. She was one of the few well matched in age and pedigree to her husband. “Look at that figure. I used to have one like that. Remember, honey?” Her husband grunted, but stole what he must have thought were covert looks at Sam.

And she wowed them all. It wasn’t just the feel of her body against him, or how the swell of her hips were the perfect perch for his hand. It was all of her. It also didn’t help that she no longer stiffened up or paused like she used to during his play at advances. She rolled with it easily.

As the afternoon and game wore on, conversations about future investments at the company gave way to a more casual atmosphere. “Is there anything here that doesn’t look like it was prepared by Gordon Ramsey?” she whispered to him after she’d turned down the last tiny gourmet appetizer.

“I think you need a Hoffmann’s dog,” he told her.

“What’s that?”

“A hot dog with three additional types of pig on it. Bacon, sausage, and pulled pork.”

She looked at him curiously. “I’d try that.”

“Seriously? I can have the waitstaff—”

“No, after the game, can we go get one from out there?” she asked, and gestured to the exit.

“You mean where the commoners gather?” he teased her. “Let’s go now, it’ll just take a minute.” He took her hand and looked around. “Would anyone else like a Hoffmann’s dog?” he asked. The waitress immediately looked frazzled, and he held up his hand to her. “It’s alright, we’d like to go.”

All of the investors signed up for one, while the wives and girlfriends wrinkled their noses in a show of disgust. All except the solid older woman who no longer gave a damn what anyone thought of her. “Let them binge eat in secret after this,” she whispered to Sam with a knowing smile.

As he led her out of the crisp, air conditioned suite, they took a shortcut through the stands. Suddenly, Sam pulled at his hand. When he turned around, she pointed to the field. They were hundreds of feet tall on the Jumbotron as the old-fashioned kiss cam graphics danced around them. Fans around them started to demand and chant that they kiss.

He leaned into her without even considering that she wouldn’t oblige. When their lips met, the crowd thundered around them. One step behind and above him, she was at his height. He snaked his hands around her back and squeezed her ass, which he’d fantasized about mercilessly since that night at the underground fight. She filled his hands perfectly, and her eyes popped open in surprise.

“That should give the investors a show,” he told her with a wink.

“This smells amazing,” she said as they carried the signature dogs back to the owner’s box. They’d stopped and picked up the red velvet chicken ‘n’ waffles for a touch of sweetness en route. “It almost makes up for my having to wear arguably the most racist shirt imaginable.”

“Don’t say that in the suite,” he teased her. “You’re making nice with some very rich people with some very strong opinions on why ‘redskins’ is still a perfectly acceptable slur.”

The investors descended on the stadium food with gusto. The waitstaff scurried to refill pints while the wives and girlfriends picked gingerly at the food.

“You two look good together,” the older wife told both of them. “We saw you on the big screen.”

He watched Sam blush and put his hand on her leg. “I’ve been told I make some pretty solid decisions,” he told the woman.

“Yes, well, my husband is quite taken,” she said. “It’s refreshing to see some youth and vigor revitalize the company. I imagine that will be reflected in a gesture of his soon.”

Sam smiled at him as the woman moved on to compliment one of the young girls on her dress that looked painfully tight. Although it was just the two of them for a moment, he didn’t move his hand from her thigh. She didn’t seem to mind. He could feel the heat of her body, even through the denim, and wondered what she would do if he started to inch his hand up higher. Nothing? Uncross her legs? Give him permission with her eyes?

“Connor,” one of the investors said. It snapped him instantly out of his daydream. “What do you think of their first-down running average? Obviously it’s improved since the 2015 season, but I think…”

He squeezed Sam’s leg, got up and moved to the investor to talk ball. But he felt her eyes follow him.

When the game was over and all the hugs and kisses were exchanged around the suite, Connor left last. He held the door open for Sam and indulged in a show of her hips swinging in those tight jeans. The ball cap that topped her ponytail and flawless old-school Adidas in custom burgundy and gold stripes were an impressive touch by James.

“Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.

She turned and looked up from her phone. “I was just ordering an Uber—”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, it’ll take forever with the crowd. And premium parking is right here, so we can be out and I can have you home a lot faster than any Uber.”

She bit her lip and looked at her phone again. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble…”

“Not at all, come on,” he said.

The attendant rushed to open their doors, and Connor got a kick out of watching what must have been a twenty-year-old kid ogle Sam as she slid into the car. “I didn’t know you high rollers even had your own parking garage,” she said. “And air conditioned, too.”

“Only the best for people who spend thousands of dollars every year to sit in their tower above the field and barely watch the game,” he said with a laugh.

“Not a huge fan, then?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’s alright. These things are just work for me, so it’s not like I can enjoy them even if I really wanted to.”

“Work, huh?” she asked with a smile.

He grinned at her and started toward the exit. “Yes, work. But who says you can’t have some fun while you’re at it?”

She lowered her cap as he paused at the gate to open the convertible top.

“Do you want to see my place?” he shouted to her over the wind. “We’ll be driving near it.”

“Sure!” she said.

He exited off I-395 and made his way to Lowell Street. Connor slowed in the familiar neighborhood. The last thing he needed was another complaint to the homeowner’s association about how he “didn’t drive like his kids lived here.” One of the neighbors, a crotchety older woman who constantly tended her roses, gave the requisite wave.

“Is this your neighborhood?” Sam asked, almost in a whisper.

“This is it,” he said. “And there’s my place,” he said as he pointed to the historic home which he’d had dramatically updated with touches of modern and mid-century modern flair.

“Are you serious?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“What, you don’t like it?” he asked.

“It’s just not what I expected,” she said as she craned her head to watch it while they passed.

“What did you expect? Pink plastic flamingoes in the yard?”

“I don’t know. More of a bachelor pad, I guess. A loft in the city.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he promised her.