The Wall of Winnipeg and Me - Mariana Zapata Page 0,112

feel nice. I might have preened as I took another sip of my beer and then touched my shoulder against his. “I like you, you know that, don’t you?”

He snorted and grabbed his own beer bottle, taking a swig out of it. We settled in and watched the players come on to the field, the fans in the stadium getting to their feet and screaming all eighty thousand of their lungs out. The Three Hundreds were playing one of their top competitors, the Houston Fire, and it was packed. I was planning on sending my foster dad a picture message later.

Unzipping my jacket so I could have free range of my arms and hands later in the game, I pulled my arms out of my sleeves and adjusted the bottom hem of the jersey I’d put on.

Beer shot out of Zac’s mouth and right into his lap. “Van. Van. Why would you do that?” he cried, eyeing me like I’d lost my mind even as his hands wiped at his face.

I sat back in my seat and grinned. “Because you’re my friend, and if anyone’s watching, I don’t want them to forget about you.”

* * *

Hours later, Zac and I had gone to eat Mexican food—and squeezed in a margarita each—after the game, and were back at the house when Aiden finally showed up. Those huge legs dragged across the floor as he dropped his bag, looking every bit as tired and thoughtful as he usually did after a win. I didn’t know why he got so thoughtful after a win instead of rejoicing, but I kind of liked it. When the team didn’t win a game, he usually just looked revved up and downright pissed in that quiet, brooding way of his. Like clockwork, he’d eat something then disappear into his room.

Stirring the boiling pot of quinoa noodles, I flashed him a grin over my shoulder. “Good game, big guy.” He’d gotten three sacks, which wasn’t a bad day at all.

“Thanks.” He stopped in place. “What the hell are you wearing?”

With the spoon still in the pot, I shrugged. “Clothes.”

“You know what I mean.”

“A jersey?” I offered with a one-shoulder shrug.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him moving around. I felt him inspecting me. His voice was low and careful as he said, “You’re wearing Zac’s jersey.”

“Yep.”

“You… went to the game wearing Zac’s jersey?” Still sober, still tiptoeing.

“Uh-huh.” I glanced at him finally standing directly behind me, his back to the kitchen island. His arms crossed over that wide expanse of a chest. “I don’t want anyone forgetting he’s a quarterback,” I explained before turning back around.

He moved then. He didn’t say anything for so long, I thought maybe he’d walked out of the kitchen, but I found him sitting at the breakfast nook table with his elbows on his thighs. I realized his cheek was twitching, but he didn’t necessarily look mad. He just looked… contemplative all over again.

“Are you okay?”

Only his eyes swept across the room before they landed on me and he tipped his chin down. “Fine.”

“All right.” The timer for the noodles went off, and I turned to the stove. Straining the noodles and placing them in a big bowl, I dumped the pecan seasoning and the vegetables I’d prepared earlier over them, giving them a stir. Setting the pot and the cutting board into the sink with one hand, I carried the bowl over to where Aiden was sitting and set it front of him. “I figured you’d be hungry. Just wash the dishes or put them in the washer, okay?”

That dark gaze tipped up to meet mine, surprise written all over those serious features.

I didn’t know where the hell it came from, but I winked at him. “Thank you for the tickets, by the way. They were great.”

“Thank you for the food,” he said as he stood up, literally a foot and a half away from me.

The last time we’d been so close together had been when we were in Vegas and I gave him that peck on his mouth in the chapel, but I’d been so distracted at that point with everything going on, I hadn’t been able to appreciate just how freaking huge he was up close. Because big, he was. Tall and broad at the shoulders and chest, that trim waist only made everything else about him more imposing. He was radiating this insane amount of heat and the slight scent of coconut oil he put on