Knot So Lucky (Destination Love, #1)(77)

Between cameramen, players, and lots of guys wearing polo shirts, I’m not sure he’ll see me, let alone hear me. I’m wringing the hell out of the railing, lifting to my tiptoes, praying to any and all versions of god for Crew to just turn around and see me.

“He’ll never see me, Millie.”

“Of course he will. Unless…”

My face shoots to hers as she winces and finishes, “Unless he’s avoiding looking over here because he doesn’t want to be reminded you ghosted him.”

Oh god. She’s right.

But before I begin to spiral into the abyss of my life and really dig into one of the thirty thousand thoughts I’m having at the same time, I hear Millie’s voice ring out into the sky.

“Crew!”

The amount of air I suck in as I gasp-speak, “What are you doing?” should suffocate the entire stadium. I took all the air.

But she fucking does it again.

“Crew!”

And to make matters worse, some drunk yahoos next to us start yelling it too. Jesus Christ. Millie turns to them, clapping and explaining a mile a minute why we’re calling his name.

She tells my whole damn story in fifteen seconds flat, really kicking them into gear as I stand there with my mouth fallen open, drowning in sheer panic. Because like some overly humiliating game of telephone, people start sharing my dumb-ass love story until everyone within a ten-seat radius around me begins chanting his name.

Part of me is wondering how obvious it would be if I just dropped to the ground and crawled along the dirty concrete commando-style until I got to the stairs so I could fucking run.

But the other part is picturing myself on a dirt pitcher’s mound with a time clock running down as the music kicks in.

His name is drowned out as whistles blow and the game goes back into full swing.

My heart is racing a mile a minute, almost thumping out of my chest.

“Eleanor,” Millie’s voice barks, cutting through to me. “This is your fucking moment, bitch. He’s right there. Are you going to get him or not?”

I feel a thousand emotions all at once. But the one thing I don’t want to feel is regret.

Because Crew Matthews is worth the gamble.

My hands grip the railing again as I turn toward the field, seeing him start to jog out.

The worst idea I’ve ever had forms in my head. But I don’t second-guess it. Not even a little, because today is a day for action.

I’m rolling the fucking dice. I’m betting on red.

My head snaps to Millie as I reach down and take off my heels. “I’m going to get my cherry.”

Before she has time to react, I hike a leg over the goddamn railing and launch myself down onto the other side. I want to say I look athletic, but I’ll be haunted by that memory.

I hear her scream and the section cheer as I look up, pulling my dress down. Thank god I wore underwear.

Adrenaline is pumping so hard I feel like I could lift a car as my eyes almost pop out of my head.

What the fuck am I doing? Holy shit! I just went over the rail.

It’s in that moment that reason uppercuts me in the fucking jaw because reality crashes in.

The whole bench is staring at me. And big, tall men are walking toward me.

Oh fuck. There’s security…and they’re swarming.

What do I do? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

So I take a deep breath, giving Millie one last look before I do the right thing.

I haul ass.

I’m pushing past players and coaches, hearing what the fuck and who the hell is that as I whizz past everyone, breaking through the entire 49ers bench as I run straight out onto the goddamn Levi’s Stadium field.

I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. They’re gonna take me down and break all my bones. And I’m gonna die.

I glance over my shoulder as my feet move faster than they ever have. Seeing Nate haul one of the security guards up in the air buys me some time, so I scream, “Crew,” making him look over his shoulder just as I pounce.

Tackling exactly how he taught me in that penthouse too many months ago.

He topples over, and we roll with me landing on top, straddling him, my hands on his chest pads.

“What the fuck?” he bellows, spitting out his mouth guard.

But the minute he opens his eyes, he’s matching my smile.

“I came to get you. Sorry about being late.”

He reaches for his helmet, but I don’t get to see his face because I’m launched about two feet away, shoved, and carried off by security.

Oh fuck.

There’s so much noise that I can’t understand what’s being yelled at me as two guys hold my arms and start to cart me away. I look over my shoulder, my feet stumbling over each other, seeing a charging Crew, helmet chucked as he barks, “Get your fucking hands off her.”

They look confused but listen, just as he spins me around and picks me up. My legs wrap around his waist as his arms wrap around my rib cage.

“You rushed the quarterback,” he breathes out, grinning from ear to ear with that black stuff smudged under his eyes.

My palms cradle his face as I start to cry, overwhelmed with emotion because he’s the most beautiful goddamn sight I’ve ever seen. My heart’s beating out of my chest as I rush my words out.

“Yeah, I really want him to be my boyfriend.” My breath catches as I add, “But only if he wants that too.”