“Things must be going well between you and Max,” she commented.
“He’s . . . amazing.” He’d given me his car, he’s paid me up front for being his fake girlfriend, and he’d kept his hands to himself. And he’d spent the night with me. It had been incredible.
So why was I feeling anxious?
She sent me a mischievous grin. “Remember, if you want to keep a man, you gotta keep him focused on your assets.”
“Which is?”
“Your brain, dear, your brain. Get your mind out of the gutter.” She gazed around at the crowd with a satisfied grin. “Now point me to where I can get something to wet my whistle. Back in my day, they didn’t sell alcohol at a football game.”
While she waved down the drink vendor, I did a quick outfit check.
The dark blue dress (a Leland color) I’d borrowed was a bit over the top for a game, but I wanted to look good for Max. Isabella had plucked it from her closet, dangled it under my nose, and declared it was the one. Short and tight, it was made from one hundred percent silk and had peek-a-boo cut-outs near the bust and waist that hinted at my pale skin underneath. I finished the look with leopard-print stiletto slingbacks. Isabella’s as well since there never seemed to be time to go shopping.
One thing about having an eye for art is I knew how to apply makeup even though I rarely wore it. Today I’d used a heavy hand. My foundation had perfect contouring, with emphasis on my high cheekbones and straight nose. I’d been told my best feature was my gray eyes, so I’d played them up with hues of blue. Eyeliner created a tasteful wing effect, and I’d filled in dramatic eyebrows. A nude lip-gloss finished it. My long hair had been straightened until it hung in a shiny waterfall down my back, contrasting vividly with the dress. This was my first big public appearance, and I hoped I looked like the kind of girlfriend Max Kent would have. I’d been relieved to see several eyes watching us as we walked down the stadium steps to our section.
Of course they’re probably just wondering who got those fantastic seats.
Dressed in their gray and blue uniforms, our team jogged from the inner part of the stadium, and the home crowd went nuts. Mimi and I jostled to our feet to do the wave along with everyone else.
I watched Max’s number seventeen jersey as he stood on the sideline going over plays with the quarterback coach.
The game got off to a rocky start with Louisiana scoring before we had points on the board. I chewed on my thumbnail, caught up in the action, hoping Max came up with a big play soon. When the other team scored again, I watched him pace on the sidelines, his posture wired.
At halftime Mimi elbowed me in the ribs and nudged her head at the Jumbotron. I planted a smile on my face and waved. The camera swung away but not before I saw Bianca sitting a few rows back with her sorority sisters, glaring at me.
“Who’s the girl giving you the evil eye? She looks meaner than a striped snake,” Mimi murmured around the rim of her draft beer.
“Max’s ex. This was probably her seat last year.” I shot a look over my shoulder at her, a glittery pendant around her neck catching my eye. It was a star-studded number seventeen hanging from a gold chain. My teeth ground together.
Who did she think she was still wearing Max’s number? What about Felix?
The players headed back out from the locker rooms, and I grew nervous. My hands clenched around my Diet Coke as I tipped it up to take another sip. I chomped on the ice.
Mimi patted my knee that had been vibrating up and down. “Stop your worrying.”
I paused. I mean, yeah, I got into a game as much any true fan, but it was more than that. I was emotionally invested in Max.
Max jogged down to the field, heading for his coach. They talked heatedly for a few moments until Coach Williams threw his hands up as if he was done and Max stalked off.
My brow wrinkled. He’d been rather distant the past couple of days leading up to the home game, and I’d assumed it was stress—but this looked different.
Max ran over to a cameraman a few paces away. I took in his face, trying to get a read on him, but he looked almost serene, which was weird during a game.
He stalked over to the barrier that divided the stands from the field and jumped it. The fans went nuts as he brushed past them, some not even realizing it until he was down the aisle. The Jumbotron followed him.
“Good Lordy, what’s he doing?” Mimi asked, clutching at her chest.
“I don’t know,” I said rather weakly, taking the chance to study him the closer he came. He was beautiful, his shoulders impossibly broad. To add to the distraction, his helmet was off and all that dark brown hair was flowing around his chiseled features as if he had a fan in his face.
“He’s coming over here,” Mimi commented.
He was. But why?
I stopped breathing . . . right when he came to a halt in front of me and knelt down on one knee.
Eyes the color of a wild ocean gazed at me.
He took my left hand in his right one.