Dominique looked at her watch as she found a parking spot in the crowded lot. Geez! Are all of these people really here to watch some kids catch a pigskin? Her heart dropped. She knew she was late, and hoped that she hadn’t missed too much of the game. Football is all Justin had talked about since school began. It had been like pulling teeth to get him to talk about subjects near and dear to her heart—math, science, and geography, for instance. The only thing he talked about was his beloved new coach. “Coach did this,” or “Coach said that.” He’d been just two or three comments shy of getting on her last nerve. Yet as she walked across the parking lot thinking of these dinnertime conversations, Dominique realized that she hadn’t seen her son this happy in quite some time.

“Through hail, snow, sleet, rain... we are the Hurricanes!”

Dominique walked through a short tunnel and entered the stadium, hearing chants led by cheerleaders wearing purple and gold-colored uniforms. She looked around and even though she’d missed much of the first quarter, she was still surprised to see that the stands were almost filled to capacity. It seemed as if the entire school’s population and half the neighborhood had come out for this debut game. Belatedly, she realized that her work gear might not have been the best choice for wear—that her fitted purple dress, large shawl, and three-inch heels may not fit in with the rest of the parents or other spectators. These high-powered executives, soccer moms, and trust-fund babes hid their riches behind jeans, khakis, and diamonds worn like inexpensive glass. But since the office was where Dominique was heading as soon as the game clock ran out, followed by an early dinner with a potential freelance writer, hers was a professional look. Dominique shook away the slight discomfort of looking out of place, and the memories that went with this feeling, and began climbing the bleacher steps. She was so focused on finding a seat that she didn’t see the pair of eyes that had watched her like a hawk from the moment she entered.

Jake worked hard to focus on the pad in front of him, filled with various offense and defense formations that he was reemphasizing to the team. But the x’s and o’s paled in comparison to the pow! and bang! of ample assets that now sat perched on a row near the top of the stands, at the fifty-yard line. He’d never thought to see her again, the woman who’d almost disrupted his speech the week before when she’d chosen the moment he reached the podium to make her exit. What is she doing here? She looked as glamorous in the stands today for a game of sixth-grade football as she had at the five-star hotel black-tie event. And, as then, she took his breath away.