Page 9 of False Start: Chicago Engines (Gridiron Warriors #3)

Gia

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

I looked across a sea of people, broken into sections of red and gold with pockets of the teal and silver of the San Francisco Wolves, the visiting team.

The noise of the crowd was overwhelming, and as I stood there feeling overdressed in my skirt and heels, I wondered how Weston would even know I had come.

Lydia had told me my seat was in the field level suite. To get there on time and be ready to be photographed.

A harried security guard pointed me in the right direction, and I picked my way through the crowd to a glass walled room behind the end zone.

I’d spent hours the night before reading through the Football for Dummies website, hoping to get a basic understanding of the game.

Inside, a bar lined the back wall, while two rows of huge, plush seats faced the field.

Several seats in the front row were occupied by men, women, and children chattering excitedly as others filtered around them retrieving drinks and plates of food from a buffet table set up against the far wall.

I stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure whether seating was allocated, or if I should wait until everyone else had found their place to slot in somewhere.

The rumble of a throat being cleared startled me, and I shifted aside to make room for a distinguished looking grump of a man who scowled at me as he eased past.

I was so out of my depth.

Somehow, I needed to sell the image of an excited football player’s girlfriend when all I wanted to do was sink into a hole and disappear.

“You look a little lost.”

I jumped at the sound of the masculine voice, so close to my ear.

A tall, thin man — taller than me, but he would still have looked tiny next to Weston — leaned against the wall behind me, far closer than was comfortable.

His ball cap sat backward on his head, and his posture screamed confidence as he leaned further into my personal space. “Need someone to watch the game with?”

“Not in this lifetime or the next. Fuck off and find someone else’s ass to crawl up. She’s taken.”

The woman was petite, but built like an athlete with her long, dark hair scraped back in a ponytail. Silver hoops hung from her ears, and her nails were perfectly manicured as she waved away my unwelcome visitor.

“You Georgie?” she asked.

“Gia, yeah,” I corrected, unsure whether to treat her as a friend or foe. She took me in with a sweep of her light brown eyes and inclined her head toward the group of people I’d noticed on my way in.

“We’re over here. Come sit with us.”

She led me over to two women who turned with smiles as we approached. The blonde nodded in greeting while the other, whose hair was bubblegum pink, practically bounced out of her chair.

“Are you Georgie? Hi! I’m Ridley. It’s so nice to meet you, we were wondering if West would let us sit with you. This is Marina behind me, and you’ve already met Cami. Welcome!”

“Hi.” I held my hand up in what I hoped passed for a wave. Ridley seemed like… a lot. But it was nice to feel like someone wanted me to be here. I accepted the seat beside her, and Cami sat beside me.

“Are you all here to support Weston?” I asked.

Ridley tittered, while the other two smiled. “No. Well… I mean, kind of? We all love football anyway, but Cami’s twin is Christian Morales.”

I started at her blankly.

“The quarterback?”

Nothing.

She waved her hand like she could erase my ignorance.

“Anyway, Cami and I have been coming to Christian’s games since college, and Marina is Weston’s neighbor. So, I guess she’s partially here to support Weston, but mostly so the two hooligans can hang out.”

Hooligans? I didn’t want to ask and seem more stupid, so I sat back and tried to look like I belonged.

I could do this. Yup. This was me… sitting with women I’d just met, about to watch some football.

For the first time in years, I wished Duckie was here. She loved all kinds of sports, and would happily tell me what the hell the difference was between a wide receiver and a tight end.

Why did so many football terms sound dirty?

“So… is Cami short for anything?” I asked, searching for a safe conversation. She grunted, keeping her eyes on the field where men in teal and silver were running onto the field.

“Camryn. But never use that name unless you want to be punched in the box so hard Weston will be crying into his lonely hand for the next calendar year while you’re out of service.”

I blinked.

“Noted. That was oddly specific.”

Ridley threw back her head, candy-colored curls bouncing as she laughed. This close, she smelled like candy too. Watermelon jolly ranchers.

“Ignore her,” she said, grinning, as she patted my forearm. “Cami’s a girl’s girl, but violence is always her first answer. It’s how she keeps up with her twin.”

Cami huffed, sitting straighter as a roar went up outside our box and men in dark red and gold jerseys jogged onto the field.

Towering above his team mates, Weston looked like even more of a giant than usual decked out in his pads and wearing obscenely tight pants. His ass looked good enough to bite.

“I don’t need to keep up with him. If he pisses me off, I just nail him in the balls and leave him to cry into his groupies ample—heeey girls. Where did you run off to?”

Two tiny humans popped up behind our seats with hands full of pastries they’d liberated from the buffet.

So these must be the hooligans.

“Can I nail someone in the balls?” the darker haired of the two asked. She looked a lot like Cami, but I didn’t get a mother/daughter vibe.

“Definitely, but only if they deserve it, and you don’t tell your father I gave you permission.”

“Deal.”

“No deal,” Marina interrupted, dividing a glare between the two girls.

I couldn’t place her accent, though she sounded a lot like Margot Robbie when I saw her press tour for the Barbie movie.

I wanted to ask, but after Cami’s threat, I decided it might be safer to just observe for now.

They all seemed to be super tight and I didn’t want to offend them.

I’d never really had girlfriends before, but maybe I could change that with these women.

“Game’s starting,” Cami announced, and everyone settled in to watch.

“Holy shit!” I screamed, as Weston threw himself at the tank of a San Francisco player who had been barreling toward Cami’s brother. The men went down hard in a tangle of limbs, and I jumped to my feet, breath caught in my throat as I waited for him to get up off the ground.

Weston’s block cleared the way for Christian’s throw, and a moment later a player wearing Chicago colors came hurtling down the grass toward us.

A few steps shy of the end zone, the wide receiver for the Engines launched himself through the air and caught the ball one handed, evading the grasp of two San Francisco players as he landed across the line.

“Touchdown!!” The cry was echoed by half the room as people slapped each other on the back and cheered like they’d been the ones who scored.

“That was… exciting,” I said, covering my pounding heart as a new player ran onto the field to join the line up of players that felt close enough to touch.

On the Chicago side line, I caught a glimpse of Weston’s face, pulled into a scowl of concentration that made him look sexy and foreign all at once.

He pulled his helmet off, running his fingers through sweat soaked hair, and I felt a pulse of heat run through me.

“I think I like football,” I murmured to myself, causing Ridley to laugh again as the ball was snapped and kicked through the goal post. Another cheer rolled around the stadium as red and gold flags waved in the crowd.

The game was thrilling to watch, with the Wolves meeting every touchdown from Chicago with one of their own.

Cami and the girls tried to explain the rules as we watched, patiently talking through the nuances of the offensive vs.

defensive side, and the skill Christian demonstrated leading the offense.

Not once did they make me feel stupid for my questions, and by the end of the fourth quarter, I felt like I’d found a place where I fit. The Engines won the game, a field goal pushing them into the lead with only minutes left in the game, and Ridley invited me down to the locker rooms with them.

“Weston will want to see you, and we’re heading down there anyway.”

We fought through the crowds, winding our way through the bowels of the stadium until we reached security personnel outside a set of double doors. Cami approached them with confidence, and after a short exchange, we were waved through.

“In here,” Cami’s niece, Zara announced, darting through a side door with Amber hot on her heels.

“This is the family and friends room,” Marina explained, waving me inside. “There’s always fresh snacks.” Sure enough, the two girls had already retrieved a can of soda each and commandeered a plate of cookies.

“Zara, if you put yourself in a sugar coma, your dad is going to lose his mind. Take one and put the rest back. Amber, you’ve had enough, too.”

Marina’s mom voice was a little scary.

The girls returned the plate they’d stolen and sat in one of the plush sofas that filled the room.

“The guys will shower and anyone who doesn’t have to speak to the press can come in and visit once they’re ready,” Cami said, finding her own seat.

A pang of disappointment hit me. Weston had looked so fierce and rugged all covered in sweat and dirt. It seemed a shame to wash it all away.

Don’t forget, this whole thing is fake. Dirty men don’t play into the pretty relationship picture .

I needed to keep my eye on the prize. Lydia hadn’t heard back about Shifting Sands yet, and if I didn’t get the role, relationship or no, my next step would be moving back to Texas.

Living under the same roof as my mother again was not an option.

A loud bang shook me from my miserable thoughts.

In the wide-open doorway stood Weston. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his blond hair a riotous mess around his face and neck.

His knees were stained with dirt and grass, and his smile was the kind of bright that destroyed a woman’s panties right along with her logical mind.

Without a thought for appearances, or the lecture I’d just given myself, I took three running steps and jumped into his arms. The adrenaline of the game, the rugged beauty of his appearance, and the feeling of belonging all crawled beneath my skin in a symphony of excitement that I couldn’t contain.

“Hey—” I cut him off with my lips and tried to pour all my appreciation and gratitude into the action. Wolf whistles and catcalls rose from the group of women behind us, and I grinned against his mouth as he squeezed me tighter.

“Get a room,” Cami called as Amber and Zara broke into fits of giggles.

His lips tasted of salt, the ghost of a beard rough against my cheek, and I didn’t want it to end. But the reminder of an audience was enough to make me pull back.

“Hi,” I said, squirming in a bid to get him to let me down. He did, though one hand stayed wrapped in my hair while the other rested on my hip.

“Did you enjoy the game?” he asked.

I nodded, licking my lips as my eyes dropped to his mouth again.

It was the closest we’d been since the night we spent together.

Technically, I’d broken the rules of our deal, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

Especially as my libido tried to convince me we should do a repeat on the whole experience.

“Princess…”

I glanced up at him as his words died out. Hunger. Everything I felt was right there, reflected in his eyes, and I wondered how much of this arrangement was actually fake.

“Okay, we got some good shots of the two of you. Mr. Naylor, are you doing the press conference?” A man in jeans and button up shirt broke in on the moment with an old school camera looped around his neck.

I took a step back and wrapped my arms around my middle as he stole Weston’s attention. Had I unknowingly played into a publicity stunt? Of course I had. Weston had made it clear that he would help out with the fake relationship, but that he didn’t want anything more.

I hadn’t even realized the guy was in the room.

With a deep breath, I pulled on my acting skills and projected the persona of a confident girlfriend to the people gathered in the room.

No one needed to know I’d already gotten lost in the moment.

Least of all Weston.