Nineteen

SCOTT DIDN’T NEED her reassurance, either, but it didn’t stop Abby from trying.

“Don’t worry about it, plenty of teams have a rough start. What matters is peaking at the right time, not too early...” The words poured from her mouth like a leaking faucet she couldn’t quite turn off.

“Abby,” Scott rested his hand on her arm, sending a slow curl of heat through her chest.

Why did even the most casual of his touches set her senses spinning?

“It’s okay, I’m fine. You don’t need to do this.”

Abby’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry. I’m not sure what to say...”

Scott pulled her into a hug. “Nothing. Let it go. That’s what I have to do, too.”

“Are you sure?” At his nod, she relented. “Okay, letting it go.”

Abby tipped her face up toward his and pecked his lips with her own.

“I want to talk about something besides football right now. How’d Gen’s vet appointment go?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you. She’s fine. I mean, I knew she was, but I’m glad we went back. We tried switching her food and she started eating again right away, so the vet thinks she became sensitized to something in the old formula. Or maybe they changed their ingredients.”

“That happens?”

“Sometimes.” Abby shrugged. “I’ve also been working with Dylan on not feeding her extras or scraps, so I think that might be helping, as well.”

Scott shook his head. “Sorry, I should have put a stop to it when it started.”

“Don’t worry. I should have, too, but they both enjoyed it so much.”

“Still, good news. I’m glad she’s okay. Are you going to bring her to the game?”

Abby shook her head. “She’s a therapy dog, not a service dog. There are places where I can toe the line, like the coffee shop, because they’re dog-friendly, but I have to be careful. Trying to get her into a place like the stadium could hurt working service dog teams.”

Scott cocked his head. “Wait, they’re not the same?”

“Not at all. Service dogs provide tasks for their handlers, like guide work, diabetic or seizure alert, or retrieving dropped items. Therapy dogs are trained to help other people, not their own handler. I have no reason to take a therapy dog to the game. I mean, except maybe to comfort the Seahawks when they lose to you.” She grinned.

“Yeah, they’ll need all the therapy they can get by the time we’re done with them.”

But when Scott dropped Dylan off at her place on Saturday afternoon, all business, Abby accepted his perfunctory instructions and logged Kelly’s number into her cell phone in case something came up. Already getting his head into the game, she wished him luck with a quick kiss on the cheek.

She hadn’t known most teams kept their players in a hotel the night before a game, even if it’s at home.

Something about team bonding, getting a good night’s sleep, and having breakfast together for morale, Scott had explained, then rolled his eyes.

“Unless your roommate snores. Or is up all night on his phone. Or the hall noise is too loud. Or a million other things that could all be solved by letting me sleep at home in my own bed.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow after the game, right?”

“Yep. Kelly will make sure you get to the ready room. I’ll meet you there.”

“And then we’ll go celebrate.” She didn’t want to jinx it, especially given they’d already lost the first two games of the season, but Abby also understood this wasn’t the time for being a strict realist—or worse—a cynic.

“Then we’ll go celebrate.” Scott kissed her one more time, shorter than she would have liked, but understandable.

“Love you,” she reminded him as he turned to leave, but he had already begun his pre-game shift into player mode, and she didn’t think he’d heard her.

She thought she’d planned plenty of time for them to arrive at the stadium, park, and get to their seats, but she was little more than an amateur when it came to game day.

The coin had already been tossed by the time Dylan, tired of waiting for her as she squinted up at the signs over each tunnel, grabbed her hand and wove her through the crowds and right to their seats.

A woman with warm, ochre skin and a halo of long, tightly curled, dark hair waited for them, looking more beautiful and stylish than anyone at a football game had any right to.

She wore a jersey with the number 11 and WATKINS printed across the shoulder blades.

Over the W, looping script in glittering silver declared, MRS.

Dylan slid into the row first, high-fiving a few people above and below them along the way, then flopping into the seat next to the woman.

Abby followed behind him, smile pasted on her face, fingers shaking. She lifted her chin, trying to ignore the curious glances being shot her way.

Rising, the woman chivvied Dylan over another spot, and, grinning, pulled Abby past him into the seat beside hers.

“You must be Abby. I’m Kelly.”

Enfolded into a hug before she could even think to resist, surprise warmed her cheeks at the welcome from a complete stranger.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

“Uh, thanks?” Abby sank into her seat. Only then did she realize the stares had followed her, a few heads even craning from below, studying Kelly’s welcome.

Kelly, noticing, smirked. “Ignore them. They aren’t sure whether you’re the new nanny, the girlfriend, or another football... follower.” Her tone of voice made it clear follower meant something else.

Abby blanched.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re with me, and I’ll take care of you.” With that, Kelly shot a dark glance at those still sneaking looks at them. Abby’s breath stuttered in relief as most eyes turned guiltily toward the field.

Dylan pulled her sleeve, and Abby turned toward him.

“Look, there’s Dad.”

Abby followed the line of his finger and found Scott squinting up into the stands, one handheld high with thumb, forefinger, and pinky extended. She recognized the ASL sign for I love you .

Dylan waved, then flashed the same sign back.

“You should do it, too. It’s for luck.” He gazed up at Abby with wide, dark eyes.

Smiling, she formed her fingers in the same way Dylan held his. Scott couldn’t possibly see them clearly from where he stood, even if he seemed to know exactly where to direct his gaze, but she did it, anyway.

Settling back into their seats as the teams lined up for kickoff, the woman in the row behind them leaned forward, into their space, and raised an eyebrow at Kelly. “Intro?”

Kelly smiled. “Jif, this is Abby. Abby, Jif.”

“Like the peanut butter?”

The woman laughed and rolled her eyes good-naturedly, flipping her long, caramel-brown hair over one shoulder.

“Short for Jenn if er,” she emphasized the “if.” “It’s a nickname, but it kind of stuck. Like peanut butter.”

“Who are you...? I mean, is there a player...” Abby trailed off, realizing she didn’t quite know the right etiquette. Would Jif be insulted?

Jif laughed again, reassuring Abby she wasn’t. “I’m Coltan Pritchard’s sister. His little sister, so my chances of being ‘with’ anyone on the team is approximately negative infinity.”

Kelly snorted. “Doesn’t stop you from trying.”

Jif stuck out her tongue. “What can I say? Some of those guys definitely put the ‘fan’ in fanatic.” She waved her hand as if she were too hot and puckered her lips in a sexy pout.

Kelly groaned. “That was terrible.”

Jif ignored her. “Welcome to the club, sister. And I promise to keep my eyes off your man.” She held a hand to her heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you a Girl Scout?”

Jif grinned unrepentantly. “Nope.” She popped the P.

Abby turned back toward the field, a small smile on her face. She liked Jif. And she liked Kelly.

“Scott said you had a dog.” Kelly said, carrying the conversation easily. “Will we get to meet her?”

Jif leaned forward, a curtain of her hair dropping between Kelly and Abby. “Ooh, I love dogs!”

“She’s a therapy dog, so I have to be careful...”

Jif frowned. “I know. Jimmy said she did an amazing job at the hospital. I’m so jealous he’s met her, and I haven’t.”

“You just met Abby.”

Jif ignored Kelly. “Will you bring her next time?”

“I can’t.” As disappointment flashed across Jif’s face, Abby sighed. “But if you wanted to grab coffee later this week, there’s a place in Cannonborough we go to a lot.”

“Yes!” Jif pumped her fist and threw herself back in her seat.

Abby, eager to change the subject, took the opportunity to talk to Kelly without Jif’s head between them. “So, what do you do?”

“I’m in marketing. Advertising, specifically, but I also handle Finn’s contracts.”

“And I’m an education major at CSU.” Jif’s hair draped between them again. “But I’m hoping to become a trophy wife. Preferably a wide receiver. Do you know how much stamina they have?”

Abby’s cheeks turned pink. She was not going to think about the stamina of the players on the field. Especially Scott. Nope.

Kelly rolled her eyes and gently pushed Jif’s shoulder back. “Yeah, you and half this section.”

“Can I help it if I’m beautiful, an adoring fan, and fully prepared to commit to the manner of living that being a football wife entails?”

“Colton will be crushed when you don’t use the shiny new education degree he’s paying for.”

Jif giggled. “Half the girls he brings to his games don’t want to use their shiny degrees. They just want something shiny. It’s why so few of them last.” She cast a long glance down the row, where a few heads jerked forward, caught eavesdropping again.

Abby mulled that over. “Does Scott...?”

“Oh, no, but it doesn’t mean the others don’t.

Some guys, there’s a different girl in the seat every week.

The Raptor WAGS aren’t as bad as some, but they still notice.

And Scott’s the quarterback. In most organizations his wife would be the center of the social circle, but he’s so private, you can’t blame them for being curious. ”

Once again rendered mute, Abby nodded and turned her attention back to the game.

“Abby, can I go get a snack?” Dylan, wiggling in his seat, provided a welcome distraction.