My hip vibrated just as I sat down in my seat, and I pulled my phone out of my pocket to look at the screen.
Cassie: You at the game, girlfriend?
Crazy as it sounded, ever since I’d met Sean’s sister Cassie in Pittsburgh, we’d somehow managed to become texting buddies. And to be honest, I really liked her. She was off her fucking rocker, but she was also a total sweetheart.
Me: Yep. Just sat down.
Cassie: How does he look? Is his knee bothering him?
Me: Well…I just sat down, so I’m not sure. But considering he hasn’t complained about that knee all season, I think it’s safe to say he’s feeling just fine.
I’d caught on pretty quickly that Cassie was still freaked out over her brother’s knee injury a few years back. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that information from the one thousand text messages I’d received from her over the past few weeks.
Cassie: Jesus, Six. You are no fluffing help.
Me: LOL. Sorry, dude.
Cassie: How did he look in practice this week?
Me: Like he’s ready to kick some ass.
Cassie: Okay, good. ☺
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I took in the view that was Dallas’s vast stadium. The atmosphere was electric and alive, and the guys were only halfway through their pregame warm-ups.
More than that, the stadium wasn’t even filled yet.
The crowd hummed and vibrated as fans filtered inside in waves, some finding their seats right away, some making necessary pit stops at the concession stands and restrooms.
All the while, pregame entertainment commenced on opposite sides of the venue.
The Dallas cheerleaders performed while the Rodeo Drum Line provided the mesmerizing soundtrack for their sexy, sassy, and perfectly choreographed dance moves.
Tonight, I’d be filming footage and snippets for another episode of the Mavericks series. But I’d be doing things a little differently. Instead of being on the sidelines with Joe and Barry, I’d be in the stands, experiencing the game with the fans.
There was something magical about being one in the crowd.
The mere idea of it led to reminiscent thoughts of going to Lakers games with my dad.
Inside the venue, while our favorite professional basketball team played their opponent, it was impossible to feel alone. Everyone in the crowd acted the same, cheered at the same moment, and felt the same emotions together. And what I’d read on their faces during the game, I’d known was also written on mine. And in that, a true echo of humanity—where no matter which team we were rooting for, we would be as close as we could ever be.
At every Lakers game I’d gone to with my dad, because of that unity within the crowd, there had always been a feeling of freedom I could never really experience in other parts of my life.
Until I’d started my vlog.
And because I had friends in high New York places, I’d scored a kick-ass seat on the fifty-yard line. The Mavericks’ bench was right in my viewpoint, and I could literally see everything on the field.
With my GoPro camera in hand, I took a few short clips of the guys during their warm-ups, the stadium, and the crowd, before turning the camera to my smiling face.
“Only ninety minutes until kickoff and this Texas crowd has brought their A game!” I exclaimed. “But I think our boys are ready for battle. Quinn Bailey is throwing rockets with the precision of a freaking cardiac surgeon, and Sean Phillips has yet to drop the ball or falter in his steps. Dallas might be ready to bring the heat, but I think our Mavericks are going to do what they do best. Win football games!”
I turned the camera and took a few more short clips of the expansive stadium, the crowd, and even the Dallas cheerleaders who were shaking their hips and asses in their notoriously skimpy uniforms.
They looked crazy good, and I thanked the Texas weather for them. Even though it was mid-November, it was a balmy seventy-something degrees. No doubt their eye-catching, sexy as hell cheerleading gear would be a “freeze their little dancing asses off” situation in New York.
When I’d boarded my flight from JFK—having been briefly in the city for a segment at Rockefeller Center—the temperature had been thirty-eight degrees.
Winter had arrived, but you wouldn’t know that standing inside Dallas’s stadium watching their cheerleaders bounce and twerk around in their booty shorts.
With the camera back on my smiling face, I added, “Who’s ready to kick some Dallas ass!” Behind me, luckily, sat a boatload of New York fans who had made the long trek for the game.
They hooted and hollered and cheered their agreement.
I turned the camera toward them and gestured for more enthusiasm, and gladly, they obliged.
“Mavericks! Mavericks! Mavericks!” twenty or so people started to chant in our own little visitor’s bubble inside the stadium.
And across the way, Dallas fans started to shout their disagreement.
“Dallas! Dallas! Dallas!”
I caught the battle on camera for a good three minutes or so, and thankfully, everyone managed to keep it PG and friendly. I had a feeling that had more to do with the fact that the game had yet to begin than anything else. Once the whistle blew and the beers started flowing, that friendly little battle could be an animal of a different, more aggressive color.
Die-hard football fans were known for getting rowdy.
And this was a big fucking game.
Both teams were going in with the same exact winning record.
A lot of sports analysts were predicting whoever won tonight’s game would most likely win the championship.
Looking down at the sidelines and around the field, I caught sight of Barry’s and Joe’s positions. Joe was kneeling in the end zone catching footage of the Mavs’ kicker warming up his leg. And Barry was on the sidelines, camera focused on the fifty-yard line where Quinn and Sean stood chatting with a few of Dallas’s players.
Despite my mental prompting, I couldn’t seem to pull my eyes away from Sean once my gaze had latched on to him.
I hadn’t seen him in over a week, and damn, he looked good.
It should’ve been illegal for him to wear tight football pants.
Honestly, those formfitting spandex duds revealed a lot of the good things beneath his clothes—ahem, his tight, firm ass and strong thighs—and also hinted at other good things.
Big good things.
Penis kind of things.
Sure, he had on a jock strap, but still. It didn’t take a perverted genius to figure out Sean Phillips was blessed with more than just talent.
Or good looks or an adorably cocky and charming personality or gorgeous eyes or a handsome smile or a sexy, raspy voice that makes my toes curl or…
Yeah. Okay. Pretty sure I could stop mentally ticking off all of his attributes.
My phone pinged again in my pocket, and I pulled it out again to check the screen.
Cassie: How does he look now?
I laughed quietly to myself once I read the message.
If there was one thing she had in spades, it was persistence.
When Cassie Kelly wanted an answer, she’d fucking find a way to get it.
Me: Like a man who is ready to kick some ass.
Cassie: What about his knee? How does it look?
Me: From my seat on the fifty-yard line, it looks just like a real-live, human knee. Well-rounded. Bendable. And connected to both the upper and lower leg.
Cassie: Smartass. And now, my stupid husband is losing his fluffing shit over your response. Like, full-on cackles. You now owe me a vodka sacrifice and a trip to Barcelona Bar for Harry Potter shots next time you’re in New York.
Me: I don’t even know what half of that means, but okay. ☺
Me: But, seriously, I think he’s good to go. You have nothing to worry about.
Cassie: Thanks, you little smartass. And don’t you worry about your innocence. Georgia and I will rob you of it soon.
With a smile etched on my lips, I slid my phone back into my pocket.
I really liked Cassie, even when she was texting me incessantly about her brother’s knee. She was hilarious and sweet and often said the craziest shit that had me laughing my ass off.
Hell, I even adored her husband, Thatch.
Getting close with Sean’s family had never been my intention, but somehow, it just kind of happened.
His sister and brother-in-law aren’t the only ones you’re getting close with…
Refusing to give that train of thought any more fuel, I pushed my focus back to the field.
But when I caught sight of Sean standing on the fifty-yard line with a giggly, smiley Dallas cheerleader clinging to his side, it was pretty fucking hard to stop my mind from racing with thoughts. And doubts.
She touched his bicep and tossed her head back in laughter, her long blond locks creating a lush arc of silky strands.
And he smiled down at her.
My heart felt like an off-kilter elevator cart, whooshing from my chest to my goddamn toes in a matter of seconds.
I kind of hated how much it bothered me, seeing him chatting up another woman.
I mean, for all I knew, maybe he knew her? Maybe they were good friends?
Maybe they’re fuck buddies?
I cringed at my own thoughts, and the biggest question on my mind played on a loop.
Am I getting too close to Sean Phillips?