“Think of it this way,” I said. “If I hadn’t entered the draft against your very specific advice, I wouldn’t be buying these teams which means I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me.” I turned my head and rubbed my face against her belly. She pushed her fingers through my hair. I wanted to pry my ribs open and show her my heart because I’d swear to god it only beat like this for her. “I’m not complaining. You don’t have to either.” “I’ll stop bringing it up,” she said, “if you stop doing things you hate.” “I don’t hate football.” When she didn’t volley that comment back to me, I added, “I
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