“A little too much, I think,” I say on a laugh, shaking my head. “It’s hard to think business in here. All I have so far is that he has a good arm. And I think that’s kind of expected for an NFL quarterback.”
“It’ll come to you.” She smiles. “Look for a sign.”
A sign, huh?
The second half of the game gets rolling with the Riders on offense, and I keep my eyes glued on Matt. Not that that’s a hard thing to do.
The ball is snapped to Matt, starting the play and making my heart rate spike again. He holds the ball for a while, scanning the field and eventually making a short, quick pass to Leo Sterling, who catches it, but quickly ends up in a rough-looking pile of tackling defenders.
Frankie gasps and stands up, holding her hand to her heart and staring at the field to see if Leo gets up.
To all of our relief, he stands up, along with a couple of the Ravens defensive players, and shakes off the tackle.
The stadium is pretty quiet, though, and so is the box, as we all realize what’s happened.
I watch as the crowd clears around an injured player in a purple jersey, lying on his back and clutching his knee.
The announcers mumble something about a bad injury for Raymond O’Neill, and as everyone processes that a player is hurt, my eyes find Matt.
He’s jogging—no, running—to the Ravens defender on the ground.
“Aww, McKenzie,” Melody coos, holding a hand to her heart as we all watch him. “That’s sweet.”
He’s the first person to reach the hurt player, even before the coaches and medics make it over.
Matt crouches down and reaches out a hand, staying with the guy on the ground as Baltimore teammates rush over.
The whole thing is a blur, but Matt is right there, like a damn bedside nurse. The only aqua jersey in a growing sea of purple.
He, along with two medics and the Ravens head coach, help Raymond up.
I’m standing now, my heart swelling and tugging as Matt gives him a fist bump as he’s taken off the field.
The crowd cheers as Raymond holds up a fist as he limps off the field with the help of staff.
“Matt really is a doll,” Frankie says with a soft laugh. “There’s nothing more competitive on earth than the NFL playoffs, but there he was instantly to make sure Raymond O’Neill was okay.”
“Yeah.” I sit back and chew my lip, feeling a smile slide across my face. “He really is, isn’t he?”
Suddenly, it all becomes clear. I can’t get people to love Matt McKenzie because he’s the next Chase Kennedy…I can get people to love him because he’s not Chase Kennedy.
He’s no cocky, arrogant player with an ego that could fill this stadium. He’s sweet and good-hearted and the ultimate boy next door.
I feel a rush of victory as I think about how that whole incident has undoubtedly been captured on nineteen different state-of-the-art recording devices, just ready for all of South Florida to realize what an awesome guy their quarterback is.
A strange wave of butterflies flurries through my chest and fills me with warmth. I can’t take my eyes off him, and I don’t want to.
Once people see that sweet, selfless heart of his—and he drops the stupid wannabe Chase act—they’ll fall head over heels in love with him.
Because, just from my gut feeling, Matt McKenzie is a pretty easy person to fall in love with.
Nine
Matt
I toss my keys on the kitchen counter and glance at the clock on the oven, noticing how the room is still shifting a bit from the few too many whiskey shots I had at the Atlantic tonight.
It’s a little after midnight. I’ve been out celebrating a hell of a win with my boys, knowing we’re one step closer to staring the Super Bowl right in the face.
After pouring myself a huge glass of water, I slump down on the black leather sofa in my living room and rub my temples.
Some of the guys gave me shit for not bringing a chick home tonight. I guess I can’t blame them. They have no idea I have a baby on the way, and there’s a fuckton more than football and girls going through my mind.
Well, a girl. One girl. The girl who’s carrying said baby and whose number I may or may not be about to dial.