by Alexa Martin
“I already told you I’m not.” I roll my eyes to try and distract him from the way my body melted on top of him hearing his bossy declaration. It fails, of course, and the grin on his face transforms into a full-blown smile that I feel straight to my core.
“So how long are you planning on sticking around then?” he asks.
I sober with the question. It wasn’t one I was expecting, but one I’ve known the answer to since I decided to come find him.
I lace my fingers through his and look him straight in the eyes, hoping he can feel the sincerity of the words I am about to tell him.
“I was thinking forever . . . if that’s okay with you.”
The humor he had dancing in his eyes fades away and a look so fierce, it actually steals my breath, takes its place.
“Marlee,” he whispers just before his lips touch mine. “Since the first time I saw you on that dance floor in Chicago, the only thing I’ve ever wanted was to hear those words fall out of the lips I am about kiss.”
He doesn’t even give me a chance to respond before he follows through and pulls my face to his, and his soft lips are on mine. We promise each other without words to never leave again and when he rolls us over so he’s on top of me, he spends the rest of the night showing me how he will worship me.
The next day, Gavin gets his first ever fine for being late to practice.
But after the wake-up I gave him, he says it’s well worth it. Which is good, because now that I have him, I plan on making him late a lot.
It might’ve taken us a long time to get here, but now that we’ve arrived? I’m taking my sweet time enjoying every single second of it. Who would’ve thought that the quarterback would be the one to catch my heart?
#Intercepted
Epilogue
“Throw the fuckin’ ball, Pope!” yells the loudmouth covered in what looks to be about two gallons of body paint. “I could get rid of the ball faster than you!”
I seriously doubt that.
I start to turn around, but Naomi’s hand on my massive belly stops me.
“You’re far too pregnant to start anything, and DJ is too little to be a part of our tag team.” She points to DJ bundled up in his Giants jacket and hat, his little two-year-old legs dangling off of his seat and watching a movie on the iPad, completely oblivious to the game and my tendency to get a little nuts.
During Gavin’s third season with the Giants, Dre was released by the Mustangs and because my luck has drastically changed over the past few years, he was picked up the next week by the Giants. So now not only am I married to the man of my dreams and expecting out first child, my best friend lives next door. #JealousMuch? #YouShouldBe
“The excuse to eat extra tacos is wonderful, but this whole biting-my-tongue-and-saying-no-to-beer thing is for the birds.” Not to mention the fact that my feet are so swollen, the only things I can wear are flip-flops (not an option in January in Jersey) or old lady orthopedic tennis shoes . . . with Velcro. Not hot.
Which, speaking of, I sit down and stretch my legs as much as possible in the stadium seating. Gavin has been telling me to stay home and watch the games on TV, but what do I look like? What kind of football wife would I be if I didn’t show up to cheer on my man? Besides a warm, considerably less swollen and stressed one?
Gavin hands the ball off on the next play, but the running back gets brought down well before the first down marker. I must have missed the announcement, but Paint-man behind me takes this as his cue to rip on Gavin again.
“Are you afraid now, Pope?” he yells like Gavin can hear him on the field. “Do your fuckin’ job!”
“Hey, fucker! How about you shut the hell up and sit the fuck down?” Donny takes the words right out of my mouth. What? There’s a reason I force him to sit next to me every week.
“Who the hell are you?” Paint-man asks.
Donny glances over his shoulder. “The guy saving you from the wrath of Pope’s hormonal wife who’s either about to rip you a new one or get you kicked out of the game. All of the security guards here love her and couldn’t give a fuck at all about you. Nobody would be sad to see you leave.”
“Preach,” Naomi and I say in unison with our hands in the air.
“I’ll never understand why the fuck you two won’t let your husbands get a box—a temperature controlled, asshole-free box.” He shakes his bald, round head just as Gavin gets the ball back in his hands.
“Between the three of you, I don’t understand how I’m ever supposed to enjoy another game,” Emerson chimes in beside Donny.
“You know you love us, Ems.” I reach in front of Donny and grab her hand.
We might’ve had a rocky start, but Emerson’s the sister I always wanted now.
“Yeah, yeah. I love you. Whatever. Can we watch the game?” Her attempt at serious fails mid-sentence as a smile takes over her face.
The game is tied fourteen to fourteen with the fourth quarter coming to an end. As much as I love watching the game, if I have to sit through another hour of overtime, I’m liable to kill someone.
Gavin must hear my silent pleas—or sense the impending murder charges—because as the humongous linebacker from the Cowboys is about to get the first sack of the night, Gavin spins out of the way. He crosses the field, running faster than I have ever seen him, and just as he’s about to run out of bounds, he launches the football down the field to his receiver who shook his defender. It’s a perfect throw and the catch in the end zone is effortless.
I jump up.
Wrong.
I stopped being able to jump at the beginning of the third trimester. I lumber up, screaming and punching the air on the way. As soon as I get on my feet, Naomi’s arms wrap around my neck and we spin around in circles screaming like little girls at a pop concert.
When we let go of each other, I turn around, and my belly button that used to be an inny points at the man behind me. “What were you saying about Pope?” I don’t drop eye contact for a second as he stutters and stumbles, trying, but failing, to come up with a response. So, like the exemplary football wife I happen to be, I do the reasonable thing—I scrunch my nose and stick my tongue out at him. Because while impending motherhood might’ve made my ass grow, it hasn’t done much for my maturity levels. Some things never change.
* * *
• • •
DJ’S RUNNING AROUND with the other Giants offspring when Gavin and Dre make their way into the family room after the game.
“DJ, there’s Daddy.” Naomi points to Dre and DJ’s friends are instantly forgotten. His little legs run across the room and he jumps into Dre’s arms.
I have a similar reaction to Gavin.
“Hey, superstar.” I roll onto my tip-toes and touch my mouth to his when we reach each other.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He smiles down at me and rests his hand on my belly. “How are my girls doing?”
“We’re good, happy you’re still in the playoffs. Even though we wouldn’t mind if you didn’t wait until the last minute to win the game next time.” I laugh as I say it, but I’m dead serious.
“I’ll do my best.” He drops his hand to mine and links our fingers together. “I don’t want to be blamed for your water breaking all over the stadium seat.”
“Gross. Could you imagine?” Just the thought causes me to shimmy-shake. “The headlines that could come from it?”
Gavin starts to laugh. I’m not sure if it’s because of the way my lips are curled up in disgust, my serious fear of going into labor and having our daughter in the car or bathroom, or the hypothetical headlines, but I don’t care.
It doesn’t matter how often I see it. When Gavin laughs, the rest of the world disappears and mine lights up. The laugh lines around his eyes—a few more have popped up since we’ve been married—deepen, his single dimple makes an appearance, and his full lips part a
nd frame his perfect smile. It’s my favorite part of our life and lucky for me, we laugh a lot.
“You’re crazy.” He tightens his grip on mine as his laughter fades. “Ready to head home?”
“No place I’d rather be.”
#HappyEndingsDoHappen
Photo by Kristie Chadwick
Alexa Martin is a writer and stay-at-home mom. She lives in Colorado with her husband—a former NFL player who now coaches at the high school where they met—four children, and German shepherd. When she’s not telling her kids to put their shoes on . . . again, you can find her catching up with her latest book boyfriend or on Pinterest pinning meals she’ll probably never make. Her first book, Intercepted, was inspired by the eight years she spent as an NFL wife.
You can find Alexa on Twitter and Instagram @alexambooks and at Alexa Martin Books on Pinterest.
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