And when her face softened, her eyes velvety brown and full of emotion, I brought my lips to hers to tell her how much I meant it without speaking a word.
Hours later, we were walking into the stadium, decked out in Giants gear. Cam had on prescription aviators and a Giants baseball cap, her Manning jersey was half-tucked into her jean shorts, and her pretty legs were long and tan. She laughed and skipped ahead of me, her Converse bouncing and arms waving.
“It’s game day!” she crowed, not caring that some of the other fans gave her a look.
We grabbed beers and found our seats — some of the best seats in the house, if you asked me. It was a half an hour before the game started — players were leaving the field from warm up, and music bumped over the speakers as everyone filed into the stadium.
“What do you think, will Kyle’s girls be blondes or brunettes?” she asked as we sat down.
“Blondes. With spray tans.”
She chuckled and propped her feet on the seat in front of her. “In matching outfits.”
“Jean shorts with their butts hanging out.”
She gave me a look that said I’d wounded her feminist heart.
“What? Kyle has a type. I personally don’t care if their butts hang out. Or if said butts are tan.”
“Ugh,” she said with a curled lip before punching me in the arm with her tiny fist.
But I laughed and caught her arm, pulling her to me for a kiss.
She sighed, lids heavy when she broke away. “That’s not always going to work, Tyler. But for now, kissing me is a really great way to apologize.”
I smirked and sank into my seat, propping my feet next to hers. She lined her tiny sneaker up to my big one, then propped her other foot on top. They were the same height.
We looked at each other and laughed.
“Excuse us, I think our seats are over there,” someone said, and I looked up to see two girls pointing just beyond me, to the other side of Cam.
“Oh, sorry.” We moved our feet, and the girls shuffled past. Cam gave me a look when their spray-tanned butts moved past her eye level, and I tried not to laugh.
They were pretty girls — long blond hair, great bodies — but they looked a little out of place with flawless makeup and curls, brand new hats stiff on top of their heads and crisp jerseys on brandishing Kyle’s name and number. But they’d dressed the part in the spirit of participating, and they had matching kind smiles, so for that, I approved of the two.
Cam stuck out her hand. “You’re Kyle’s friends, right?”
The one sitting next to Cam smiled and took her hand. “Yeah. I’m Tracey —”
The other one popped her head around and waved. “And I’m Casey.”
“We’re twins!” they said at the same time.
Cam laughed. “Oh, my God. You two are adorable.”
They bubbled and giggled. “So are you.” Tracey said. “You’re so tiny! I love your glasses. I wish I could wear mine, but I swear, I’m so blind, they’re like magnifying glasses. I look like a creepy owl when I wear them.”
“I doubt that,” Cam said with a laugh.
Casey nodded. “It’s true. One time, she scared the crap out of the little kids who live down the hall just by looking at them.”
Tracey sighed. “If the zombie apocalypse happens, I’m screwed.”
Casey leaned around her sister. “Is that your boyfriend?”
Cam leaned on her arm rest toward the girls and smiled conspiratorially. “This is our first date, but I think he’s a keeper.”
Casey giggled. “Uh, totally. He’s dreamy.”
I waved a hand, smirking.
“So, how do you two know Kyle?” Cam asked.
“Well,” Casey started, “we were at Noir the other night—”
“You know, the one with the aerial dancers?” Tracey added.
“Oh, of course,” Cam lied.
“So we met Kyle and some of his friends there at the bar. They brought us into VIP, and we ended up hanging out all night. So fun.” Casey said.
“So fun,” Tracey echoed.
The beer vendor came past our aisle.
Casey wrinkled her nose. “So many carbs. Guess they’re not serving gin and tonics here, huh?”
“Maybe up at the bar,” I answered, trying to be helpful.
Tracey waved a hand. “No way am I walking up and down those stairs a billion times. Beer it is.” She stood and ordered a couple of drafts from the guy, who smiled and cooed at the twins before making his way on, calling for his wares.
Cam had settled back into her seat, and her hand found its way into my lap, her small fingers twisting through mine as the announcer came on to introduce the players. Oddly, it was always the hardest part of the game, hearing the names of players I knew, the cheers of the fans, feeling the adrenaline hanging in the air. It was easier when the game was going to forget they were anything but pieces in a game, but in the beginning, it was always hardest not to imagine myself on that field.
Kyle ran onto the field through the arches, past the cheerleaders, hands in the air. We all cheered for him, Tracey and Casey bouncing and laughing, and he pointed over at us as he ran past, eliciting squeals from the girls, even Cam.
We sat back down when the excitement had passed, and before long, it was kickoff.
Cam and I talked strategy most of the game, with interludes for joking and laughing and drinking. I took every opportunity to kiss her that I could, my hands always finding her, touching her whenever and however I could — fingertips, arms, legs, anything. I didn’t want to be separated from her. Like during halftime when she leaned on my bicep and I couldn’t do anything until I’d placed a soft kiss on her lips, or when the Giants scored and we all hopped out of our seats and I scooped her into my arms. Or once, just in a quiet moment when she peered at me with her lips in a sweet smile — a smile that told me more than words could — and I took her tiny chin in my hand and kissed her.