When he’s on the fifty-yard line, he stops and his helmet tilts up. I can feel his eyes on me as if his fingers were trailing across my skin. He smiles for the first time and lifts his arm to wave at me. And then he points. The universal gesture of This is for you, love. I make a goofy face then blow him a kiss. He catches it. Fans turn and zero their laser-beam eyes on me—but all I care about is Nathan.
