White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) by Samantha Christy

burn me if I touch it. I know for a fact that it will. Maybe I can get through this day if I just don’t let him touch me. I can focus on the game. The crowd. The food. Anything but him. I give him a venomous stare. “I’m not that big, Griffin. I think I can still stand up without anyone’s help.” Ignoring his hand, I stand and shove my own hands into my pockets.
    “Sorry. Just trying to be helpful.” He snickers when he takes in my oversized jersey, now that I’m standing up. “You look like a young schoolgirl wearing that thing.”
    Not sure how I should receive the comment, I shrug it off. “Well, this schoolgirl is hungry. You’re buying me a hotdog.”
    “You know those things are full of nitrates, right?” The edges of his mouth curve up. Erin and Griffin have never been overbearing about what I eat or drink. They don’t ever question me about it and they don’t make me monitor it. So either he’s teasing, or he likes to fight with me.
    “Just for that, you’re buying me two.” I stomp off ahead of him. I hear him laugh behind me.
    We stand in the crowded line for concessions and I start to feel the excitement. There’s nothing like attending a live sporting event. Doesn’t matter what. Baseball. Football. Soccer. They all have the same feel. The camaraderie of the fans. The smell of popcorn, nachos, and grilling meat. The hustle of everyone trying to find their seats before the main event. It’s intoxicating. And by the expression on Griffin’s face, he loves it just as much as I do.
    Someone pushes from behind, causing Griffin to run into me, toppling me over. He catches me before I face-plant the counter. “You okay?” His concerned eyes look my body up and down as if perhaps the baby had gotten hurt.
    I try to form words, but all my brain can comprehend is his strong hands on my arms, holding me steady. His large hands encompass my biceps almost entirely from shoulder to elbow. The heat from them is coursing through my body. I know it’s not an intimate gesture on his part. He’s protecting me, the incubator that houses his child. But it doesn’t keep my body from reacting to his touch.
    “Sky, are you okay?” His voice comes out insistent and worried.
    I nod my head. I silently will him to remove his hands from me. I silently beg him not to. “Yeah, sorry. Just stunned.”
    He looks relieved as he lowers his hands to his side. We inch closer to the counter when it dawns on me that he called me Sky. Or maybe I’m imagining things. Whatever. It’s probably my stupid hormones again.
    A few minutes later, we walk away with more food than two people should be allowed, and I know an extra fifty miles on the bike is in my near future. We go find our seats, arms full of hot dogs, salty pretzels and milk duds, along with a bottle of water for me and a beer for Griffin.
    Jake was able to get us into the section reserved for family. I smile, knowing that Griffin will be surrounded by the enemy. When we approach our seats, he raises a knowing eyebrow and shakes his head in mock disgust. This may turn out to be fun after all.
    It’s interesting sitting next to someone rooting for the other team. One or the other of us is always yelling, cheering, or disagreeing with a call. But we never have the same emotion at the same time. I find it quite comical. And, apparently, so does Griffin. While we are both passionate about our teams, we each laugh at the opposite reactions we have to what happens down on the field.
    I have to wonder what it would be like with Erin sitting between us. Would she cheer at all, and if so, for what team? Would she understand the game? Would she be having as much soul-feeding fun as we are right now? Would she find her husband extremely irresistible despite being outfitted in enemy garb?
    Tension is high in the game. The score is tied and a fast grounder down the line to right field gives the runner on third an opportunity to make it home. The Yankees’ right-fielder