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“Well, maybe no more tug with the dog, anyway.” His lips ruffled the strands of hair framing her face, his breath catching the shell of her ear and sending shivers down her spine.
Testing the weight on her other hand, she pulled it from where she’d braced it on the cushion beside Scott and planted it in the middle of his chest. As his eyes widened, she overbalanced both of them, landing with a huff against the solid wall of his torso.
“Gotcha.” She laughed.
“Cheater,” Scott scolded through his own laughter. “That’s like letting go of the rope.”
Abby, still giggling, lowered her lips to his, humming as the kiss deepened and Scott’s arms came around her, holding her to him.
“Bummer.” She deadpanned. “Looks like I lost. Oh, woe is me...”
“Shut up, you,” Scott reached up to tangle a hand into her long hair and pull her lips back down to his.
“Make me.”
And he did.
They had to fight harder than Scott liked for the win, and he wasn’t above being grateful the Panthers were still missing two of their key receivers and one of their tackles. Slogging through the game, it hadn’t seemed to matter whether the numbers were on the Raptor’s side, whether they had the healthier team or the better record, but, in the end, the final score showed another W under their belt.
Jogging down the tunnel toward the visitor’s locker room, he bumped knuckles with several other players, celebrating the victory. The film tomorrow wouldn’t lie, and there would be some choice comments from the coaching staff for a lot of players, himself included. He still couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the safety cut across the field and pick the ball right out of the air, yards in front of the intended receiver.
Filing into the locker room, though, the relief of a second win permeated the space.
“Hey, Finn, help me peel out of this jersey, would you? It was hotter than a Carolina Reaper out there.”
After hours of play, with all the sweat and layers of sunscreen, bug spray, or spilled Gatorade, it often seemed to take more effort to strip off the jersey than to play the game.
Once they’d both discarded their jerseys into the bin for cleaning, Scott unstrapped his pads. He liked to be one of the first into the showers. He had his choice of stalls and could stretch his time out a little longer before having to meet the press, and also because sometimes the guys needed to have a good jaw about the game, and he’d found they tended not to be as free with their words when the quarterback lingered.
Before padding to the shower, he slid his cell phone off the locker shelf, hoping for a message from Abby and Dylan.
“Shit, I have to go.” He threw the phone back into his locker and started pulling his clothes on over his sweaty, grimy body with panicky, jerking motions inconsistent with his usual lithe grace and athleticism.
“What’s up, man?” Finn, naked beside him, grabbed his clothes, too.
“Lindsay showed up at Abby’s place and took Dylan.” Scott, dressed now, shirt sticking to his sweaty skin and twisting awkwardly across his shoulders, shook his head, forcing his brain to process the next step.
A car. He needed a car. The team bus wouldn’t leave for hours, and he needed to be homenow. He needed to put his own two eyes on Dylan, to hold him in his own arms.
What the hell had Lindsay been thinking?
“Here, man, I texted Kelly. She’s coming down to meet us.”
“You don’t...”
“Shut up. Yes, I do. I’ll go let them know and meet you outside.”
Scott nodded, grabbed his phone, and left the locker room, barely hearing the subdued voices around him wondering what had happened.
Dialing, he prayed Abby would answer.
“Scott? Oh my God, Scott, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. She showed up here and started saying all these horrible things. I called you, but the game had started...”
He interrupted her, panic closing his throat. “Abby, did she say where she was taking him? Did she say why?”
Abby’s shaky breathing echoed through the phone. “I don’t... I don’t know. She showed up a couple minutes after kickoff and told me she didn’t want to hear any more about Dylan staying withrandom womenbecause you couldn’t be responsible enough to make sure he had adequate supervision. I tried to explain, but she walked in, grabbed Dylan, and started pulling him toward the door. She didn’t even let him get his things. I thought about calling the police, but she’s his mother. What could I do?”
“Okay, okay,” Scott processed the information as she threw it at him. “I don’t know where she’d take him, except maybe back to New York, but that doesn’t make any sense.”