“That’s my game jersey,” he said.
“I know.” I held his gaze. “Can I wear that instead?”
He blinked. “Elena… wearing a player’s jersey means…”
“I know what it means,” I whispered, cutting him off.
He stared at me, searching, like he needed to be absolutely sure.
“Are you sure?” he asked, voice low.
I reached into the backseat and grabbed it. He didn’t stop me. He just watched me quietly.
“Well, if you want it, it’s yours,” he said softly.
We both felt the double meaning.
I pulled the jersey over my head, right on top of my work suit. It swallowed me instantly, falling to my mid thigh.
It smelled like him. Warm and clean. A little like cedar.
“How do I look?” I asked, smoothing it down.
His answer was instant. “Perfect.”
People noticed us the second we stepped into the stadium
