Knot so Lucky (The holidates series Book 2)

eleanor

To say this stadium is loud is an understatement.

It feels like every single person in the Bay Area has shown up today. I couldn’t even tell you who the other team is because all anyone can see from section to section is red and gold.

But I genuinely don’t care about any of that.

All I know is that without really thinking this through, Millie and I left the salon in Sami’s hands, jumped in an Uber, and barely let it slow down before diving out to get our tickets.

Now we’re standing in the front row of section 138, wearing heels and cocktail dresses, listening to people grumble that we’re down.

“This is stupid. Why am I doing this?” I breathe out, looking at Millie. “This. Is. Stupid.”

Millie grabs both of my shoulders, squaring me off to her.

“This is not stupid. You are fucking epic.” She bounces on the balls of her feet, smiling too big. “It’s like the ending scene in a romantic comedy. This is your Josie Grossie moment.”

I wish I’d never been kissed because I’m fucking dying over here.

“Orrrr,” I counter. “It’s like a scene in that horror movie with Leonardo DiCaprio where he realizes his reality is all a delusion in his head and he’s actually fucking crazy.”

I turn away, gripping the railing in front of me, looking down at the empty 49ers bench because it’s halftime.

“Oh god. He sat through the first half of the game thinking that I didn’t want him. And now I’m supposed to do what? Say ‘psych’? Or April-September Fools’ Day?”

Fuck.

Millie spreads her arms, looking around.

“How about ‘sorry I’m late…’” she says weakly, trying to stay positive.

But I’m fucking sweating, so much. And my mind just keeps vacillating between “this is an atrociously bad idea” to “hell yes, I’m doing this,” basically making me want to vomit.

“I think I have heartburn,” I say, letting out a whoosh of air and rubbing my chest again. “Can you get heartburn from anxiety?”

She’s nodding, suddenly fixing my hair as music starts blaring and the crowd goes wild. It’s the most earth-shattering noise I’ve ever heard. People start chanting, and Millie is fully jumping in place, pointing toward the tunnel.

My head swings in that direction, seeing the team running back onto the field.

Oh my god. It’s happening. This is happening.

I feel like I can’t breathe.

Millie’s smacking my arm, so I slap her hand away, feeling more nervous than I’ve ever felt in my whole life. I’m searching over a sea of helmets, just trying to look for his number, but I don’t see him.

“Where are you, QB?” I whisper to myself.

Suited-up behemoth after behemoth runs out, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Oh my god, did he get injured or something?

“Millie,” I rush out, grabbing her hand, still looking at the field. “Google and see if he got injured or something. I don’t see him.”

But she almost gives me whiplash when she spins my body in the right direction as she yells, “There he is. There’s your guy.”

Jesus Christ, I’d almost forgotten how fucking gorgeous he is. Crew’s running on last and takes my breath away. That’s my QB-Wan.

My lips part, wanting to yell something, but then I start to look around because Houston, we have a problem. The bench is packed full of people.

Between cameramen, players, and lots of guys wearing polo shirts, I’m not sure he’ll see me, let alone hear me. I’m wringing the hell out of the railing, lifting to my tiptoes, praying to any and all versions of god for Crew to just turn around and see me.

“He’ll never see me, Millie.”

“Of course he will. Unless…”

My face shoots to hers as she winces and finishes, “Unless he’s avoiding looking over here because he doesn’t want to be reminded you ghosted him.”

Oh god. She’s right.

But before I begin to spiral into the abyss of my life and really dig into one of the thirty thousand thoughts I’m having at the same time, I hear Millie’s voice ring out into the sky.

“Crew!”

The amount of air I suck in as I gasp-speak, “What are you doing?” should suffocate the entire stadium. I took all the air.

But she fucking does it again.

“Crew!”

And to make matters worse, some drunk yahoos next to us start yelling it too. Jesus Christ. Millie turns to them, clapping and explaining a mile a minute why we’re calling his name.

She tells my whole damn story in fifteen seconds flat, really kicking them into gear as I stand there with my mouth fallen open, drowning in sheer panic. Because like some overly humiliating game of telephone, people start sharing my dumb-ass love story until everyone within a ten-seat radius around me begins chanting his name.

Part of me is wondering how obvious it would be if I just dropped to the ground and crawled along the dirty concrete commando-style until I got to the stairs so I could fucking run.

But the other part is picturing myself on a dirt pitcher’s mound with a time clock running down as the music kicks in.

His name is drowned out as whistles blow and the game goes back into full swing.

My heart is racing a mile a minute, almost thumping out of my chest.

“Eleanor,” Millie’s voice barks, cutting through to me. “This is your fucking moment, bitch. He’s right there. Are you going to get him or not?”

I feel a thousand emotions all at once. But the one thing I don’t want to feel is regret.

Because Crew Matthews is worth the gamble.

My hands grip the railing again as I turn toward the field, seeing him start to jog out.

The worst idea I’ve ever had forms in my head. But I don’t second-guess it. Not even a little, because today is a day for action.

I’m rolling the fucking dice. I’m betting on red.

My head snaps to Millie as I reach down and take off my heels. “I’m going to get my cherry.”

Before she has time to react, I hike a leg over the goddamn railing and launch myself down onto the other side. I want to say I look athletic, but I’ll be haunted by that memory.

I hear her scream and the section cheer as I look up, pulling my dress down. Thank god I wore underwear.

Adrenaline is pumping so hard I feel like I could lift a car as my eyes almost pop out of my head.

What the fuck am I doing? Holy shit! I just went over the rail.

It’s in that moment that reason uppercuts me in the fucking jaw because reality crashes in.

The whole bench is staring at me. And big, tall men are walking toward me.

Oh fuck. There’s security…and they’re swarming.

What do I do? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

So I take a deep breath, giving Millie one last look before I do the right thing.

I haul ass.

I’m pushing past players and coaches, hearing what the fuck and who the hell is that as I whizz past everyone, breaking through the entire 49ers bench as I run straight out onto the goddamn Levi’s Stadium field.

I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. They’re gonna take me down and break all my bones. And I’m gonna die.

I glance over my shoulder as my feet move faster than they ever have. Seeing Nate haul one of the security guards up in the air buys me some time, so I scream, “Crew,” making him look over his shoulder just as I pounce.

Tackling exactly how he taught me in that penthouse too many months ago.

He topples over, and we roll with me landing on top, straddling him, my hands on his chest pads.

“What the fuck?” he bellows, spitting out his mouth guard.

But the minute he opens his eyes, he’s matching my smile.

“I came to get you. Sorry about being late.”

He reaches for his helmet, but I don’t get to see his face because I’m launched about two feet away, shoved, and carried off by security.

Oh fuck.

There’s so much noise that I can’t understand what’s being yelled at me as two guys hold my arms and start to cart me away. I look over my shoulder, my feet stumbling over each other, seeing a charging Crew, helmet chucked as he barks, “Get your fucking hands off her.”

They look confused but listen, just as he spins me around and picks me up. My legs wrap around his waist as his arms wrap around my rib cage.

“You rushed the quarterback,” he breathes out, grinning from ear to ear with that black stuff smudged under his eyes.

My palms cradle his face as I start to cry, overwhelmed with emotion because he’s the most beautiful goddamn sight I’ve ever seen. My heart’s beating out of my chest as I rush my words out.

“Yeah, I really want him to be my boyfriend.” My breath catches as I add, “But only if he wants that too.”

Crew’s jaw tenses as he stares into my eyes before he starts to laugh, shouting his words to the sky.

“I do.”

And just like that, we went full circle. Right back to the two little words that started this.

His lips seal over mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing the holy fuck out of him. I don’t even have to look to know we’re on the jumbotron because the crowd is screaming in epic proportions.

I don’t know how long he kisses me, but what I do know is that there’s a tap on my shoulder as he sets me to my feet. Whistles blow around us, and this time, security motions in the direction I should walk as they reassure a worried Crew.

“Don’t worry, she’s not going to real jail. Just the holding tank here at the stadium. You can pick her up after the game.”

He grips my waist, kissing me one more time, and whispers words into my lips.

“Be a good girl, Wild Card. And thanks for finally screaming my name.”

I can’t help but start laughing as I’m carted away, glancing back at my hot-as-fuck boyfriend as he watches me go.

I’m not sure if this is the ending Millie’s romantic-comedy dream had in mind, but it’s good enough for me.

The security guard smiles down at me. “You should wave. They’re all cheering for you. For you and Crew.”

People always say when luck meets opportunity, that equals success. But I call bullshit. And today is proof. Because even when you get knot so lucky, you can still hit a jackpot.