A Wild Card Kiss

by Lauren Blakely

  Her sounds and murmurs light me up, and soon we’re both chasing the edge then coming together.

  In that regard, we’ve always had great timing.

  Later, after we shower, I ask if she’s hungry.

  “Starving,” she says.

  “How about I take you out to eat?”

  The sparkle in her blue eyes is the best thing ever. “Yes.”

  Once we sit at a trendy restaurant and order, I go for it, tackling the next item of business. “So, you said you and your ex didn’t talk about kids. And you and I talked about them, but in a sort of roundabout way. So, this is my way of being direct.”

  I’m pretty sure I know her answer. But I don’t want to assume. “Would you like to have kids with me someday? Because I would love to have kids with you.”

  I don’t have to wait long for her answer. It comes in Katie reaching across the table, cupping my cheeks, and saying yes.

  Yup, I like these retirement plans a whole helluva lot.

  That night, we bake a thank-you pecan pie for Katie to take to her sister in the morning.

  “Bet she spent the night with Zachary,” I say as we put it in the oven.

  “You naughty man,” she says.

  I scoff, knowing I’m close to right. “I saw the way he looked at her. And how she looked at him.”

  “And how was that?”

  I undo the apron around my waist, close the distance between me and my woman, and pin her arms behind her back. “Like he wanted to tie an apron around her wrists.”

  She shoots me a dirty grin. “Tie that around mine. Then maybe spank me and fuck me in your kitchen?”

  “We have just enough time while the pie bakes,” I say, and I do as she asked while the pie rises.

  In the morning, Katie leaves after we enjoy the shower together, and a text pings on my phone an hour later.

  Katie: All went well! Lacey is good with a replacement and the pie was a hit.

  * * *

  Harlan: I’m going to tell the team today I’m retiring. Can you come back then?

  * * *

  Katie: Honestly, I’m pretty happy with this solution. There are many other clients I can work for, and this way, everything is neat and tied up.

  * * *

  Harlan: Tied up. Sounds like what I’ll do to you next time I see you.

  * * *

  Katie: And that’s another reason! If I were to go back to the Renegades, I’d be the teacher who their Hall-of-Famer receiver ties up at night.

  * * *

  Harlan: I’ll tie you up in the morning too, if that makes you feel better.

  * * *

  Katie: I’m game. And I’m good with how it all shook out. Every single thing.

  * * *

  Harlan: Me too, sweetheart. But what about your sister and that guy?

  * * *

  Katie: I need to get her alone to discover those details. But she does have that just-been-fucked glow on her face.

  * * *

  Harlan: Like sister, like sister.

  31

  Katie

  Fifty thousand fans stomp their feet.

  They chant the team’s name.

  I’m like a Kermit the Frog nail-biting gif, a nervous wreck, staring at the game clock. I can’t take my eyes off it. “C’mon, Renegades,” I shout. “Put some numbers up.”

  My dad pats my shoulder. “Bet your guy scores.”

  “I don’t care who scores from the Renegades. I just want them to win,” I say, desperately.

  “We all do,” Dad says. “Have faith.”

  But faith doesn’t win football games. Talent and timing and skill do. The score is still tied with hardly any time left.

  With tension threading through every muscle, I perch on the edge of my seat as the Renegades get in the huddle with only a minute left in regulation.

  “C’mon, my daughter’s boyfriend,” my dad shouts amidst the din of voices. I cast him a glance, roll my eyes.

  “What? No one can hear me over the crowd.”

  “And I don’t care if they do,” I say.

  “Go, go, go!” he cries.

  When Cooper takes the snap seconds later, Harlan shoots off down the field, going long. Holy smokes. He runs like the wind as Cooper cocks his arm, takes aim, and hurls the ball downfield.

  I hold my breath as it arcs twenty, thirty, forty, fifty yards.

  Harlan leaps, arms high in the air, wrapping around the ball and cradling it. Then he runs like hell into the end zone.

  I lose my mind, along with the rest of the fans and the team itself.

  My dad and I high-five, and hug, and he holds me close for longer than two football fans normally embrace. “You did good. I’m proud of you, Katie,” he whispers in my ear, at just the right volume for me to hear.

  “Me too,” I say, emotion tight in my voice.

  “But then, I’ve always been proud of you.”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, sweetie.”

  When the game ends, the Renegades celebrate on the field, but the man who made the game-winning touchdown yanks off his helmet and rushes over to me. I make my way to the edge of the stands, racing closer to him.

  His grin is elated. His brown eyes are lit up like sparklers.

  When I reach him, he lifts his arms for me, and I climb over the stands and into them.

  He tugs me close, kisses me, and says, “Playoffs, sweetheart.”

  “Get that third ring, handsome.”

  He smooches me hard, and when he lets go, a reporter strides over and asks for a minute.

  “Sure,” he says.

  She thrusts the mic at him. “How did it feel to make that game-winning touchdown catch?”

  He glances at me next to him.

  I squeeze his hand, letting him know I’m by his side. He told the team his news already, but he hasn’t told the fans. “It felt great, Erin. Especially since this is my last season.”

  Her eyes widen. “Oh. You’ve decided to retire?”

  He nods, resolute, making his announcement official. “I have. This will be my last season as a Renegade, and I hope we go out on top. I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.”

  “And what will you do when you retire?”

  He shrugs happily, lifts our joined hands, presses a kiss to mine. “Spend time with my girlfriend and my daughter. Maybe take some trips.” He turns to me. “Hey Katie, want to travel in the off-season?”

  “As long as the timing works out,” I say with a smile.

  He winks my way, and I catch it.

  “We’re a good team,” he says.

  Yes, yes we are.

  32

  Jason

  Three words that are always satisfying to hear—you were right.

  And I will be waiting for them from my buds when I head into the gym today. Yup, I’ll take a handful of I can’t believe I ever doubted you any second.

  Now that Harlan has experienced the joys—pun intended—of workout dates, I am ready to collect.

  I push open the door of the gym on Fillmore Street, spotting the regular crew at the weights. I head over to join Harlan and Cooper, setting down my water bottle with a satisfied grin. But if anyone should be satisfied it’s those guys—they clinched a playoff spot yesterday. Still, I get to gloat on another matter.

  “Hello, gentlemen.”

  “Don’t look so pleased, kiddo,” Harlan says, but I can tell the guy is trying valiantly to come across like a hard-ass.

  Newsflash—he’s failing. He’s such a marshmallow.

  I give an easy shrug as I stretch my quads. “Pleased? Me? Why ever would I look pleased?”

  I’m so pleased.

  Harlan rolls his eyes, shakes his head, pushes up from the weight bench. “Let me get my wallet. I’ve got a Benjamin. I presume you take cash for your bets, duckling?”

  Time to mess with him again. “Sure . . . if you don’t want to do Bitcoin.”

  Harlan rolls his eyes. />
  Cooper hoots. “Oh man. Jason, you better watch it. You don’t want to piss off the King of the Jungle.”

  Actually, he’s dead-on. I don’t want to tick off Harlan or Cooper. I like this pack of friends I’ve made in the NFL, and I damn well want to keep them. They’re good guys, and the world doesn’t have enough of those.

  “Actually, we’re all good,” I say to the receiver. “You can just buy me coffee next time we hang out.”

  Harlan laughs. “You hate coffee, and I always make good on my bets.” Then he inhales deep, squares his shoulders, and says, “You were right, Jason. Workout dates are awesome.”

  I wiggle a brow. “They’re the best.”

  “Workout dates are the absolute best,” he adds, barely able to suppress a grin. “God, I love workout dates so much. Apparently, I was having workout dates all along, and they were great. You knew it, kid,” he says, poking my chest. “You fucking knew it.”

  I give a sly smile. “I know some things,” I say, even though my last workout date didn’t pan out.

  We just didn’t spark like I wanted, like I’ve sparked with others in the past.

  With one other guy.

  One I wouldn’t mind sparking with again.

  “Yes, you do,” Harlan says, then pays up. I pocket the dough, and the three of us lift weights, shooting the breeze as we go.

  When we finish, I’m getting ready to head to the Hawks training facility for practice when the door swings open to the gym.

  And someone I used to know walks in.

  Someone who definitely makes me spark.

  Trouble is, he’s also my rival.

  33

  Emerson

  Early February

  * * *

  I whistle with approval as Katie holds up a sparkly fuchsia Renegades sweatshirt. “Is this the winner?”

  It’s the top for her to wear tonight, for many reasons. “Perfection. The sparkles are so very you. Plus, you totally look like a WAG,” I tell her as I kick my foot back and forth in our Vegas hotel room.

  “I’m not a WAG for much longer,” Katie says, but she doesn’t sound wistful. She sounds happy, like she’s been about, oh, say, pretty much everything these last few months. She turns to the other person in the room. “And I guess you’re not a . . . what . . . much longer?”

  Abby giggles. “I’m not a KAP after tonight. Kids and pets,” she adds as she ties the shoelaces on her royal blue Converse sneakers, the team colors.

  “Wait. Kids and pets of sports stars go together like wives and girlfriends?” Katie asks the cutie-pie perched on the end of a king-size bed.

  “Yes, because pets are important too. Like the pony you and my daddy might get me someday,” she says, batting her lashes.

  I hold up a hand to high-five the seven-year-old. “Work it.”

  “I’m trying. I swear I’m trying,” Abby says.

  Once she tugs on her sweatshirt, Katie goes over and bops Abby on the nose. “You sure are trying. And trust me, I’ll campaign pretty hard too, once your daddy retires.”

  Abby pumps a fist. “Yes.”

  I point to the bed. “Sit,” I tell my best friend. “I need to touch up your makeup.”

  Katie’s eyes turn serious, her forehead creasing. Hmm. Is she remembering the last time I did her makeup? Her wedding day that never happened?

  Well, today couldn’t be more different.

  I can’t wait.

  “I’m just going to make you pop for TV. You know the cameras are going to be on us,” I tell her and Abby. But I shake a finger at the adorable kiddo. “No makeup for you.”

  “I know,” Abby says, then stares intently as I powder Katie’s nose, dust on some blush, and give my friend a smoky eye.

  “Are you excited for today?” I ask breezily, doing my best to keep my tone casual.

  “I’m excited and insanely nervous,” she says, fiddling with a friendship bracelet in Renegades colors that Abby made her. Abby wears a matching one. “I can’t even imagine how he feels, playing in his last game.” She flashes me a smile. “Except, I can. He’s told me.”

  “And how does Mister Harlan Taylor feel?”

  “Ready,” she says with a crisp nod and a smile. “Like the timing is totally right.”

  Abby pops up from the bed. “I need to use the little girls’ room. ’Scuse me.”

  She rushes to the restroom and shuts the door. “And speaking of timing, thank you again for babysitting her in your room tonight,” Katie whispers, nodding to the bathroom. “Tonight might be the night.”

  She has no idea.

  I just grin. “Happy to help.”

  “And what about for you? How’s everything with you and Nolan? You looked so cozy in your last episode.” She says it like she’s leading a horse to water and wants me to drink up a whole stream.

  As I swipe on her mascara, I smile softly. I’m not drinking from that river. No way. “We’re just friends. The show is going great. We’re landing new sponsors. He’s my friend and my co-host.”

  “That’s what you say now,” Katie teases.

  “That’s what I’ll always say,” I add.

  But when Nolan, all broad shoulders and smoldering gaze, joins us as we head to the stadium for kickoff, I wonder how long always will be.

  It’s like he gets better looking every day.

  Sexier every night.

  More dangerous by the hour.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he says, then drops an arm around my shoulders.

  A friendly arm.

  Since he’s a friendly guy.

  A friendly guy who, every now and then, makes me think dirty thoughts.

  I shove those all out of my head, though, because it’s game time, and I’ve got a job to do.

  Epilogue

  Katie

  * * *

  Four Hours Later

  * * *

  I’ve lost my voice, and I don’t care.

  We are all going wild in our fifty-yard-line seats. If I thought the noise at the December game was eardrum-crushing, that has nothing on the Super Bowl.

  Pretty sure half the noise is coming from our crew.

  Harlan offered to get us all a suite, but we opted for a row instead. So I’m cheering as the clock winds down. Abby’s by my side, along with Emerson, Nolan, Jillian, Olive and Zachary, my dad, and Harlan’s buddy Jason—Jason’s team didn’t make it to the big game—as well as some of my new favorite people—my boyfriend’s mom and his sisters.

  His mom is a fabulous Southern gentlewoman, all sass and manners, with lungs the size of a hot-air balloon. No one has shouted louder for her son.

  “C’mon, run it in, sweetie-pie,” she shouted when Harlan caught a pass in the third quarter.

  Sweetie-pie.

  I nearly fainted from cuteness. But I will not faint, because we have plans for tonight. Timing matters when it comes to baby-making, and I stopped taking birth control in December. I’m moving in with him when we return to California, but tonight—fingers crossed—I’m ovulating.

  We decided, why wait?

  We both know what we want.

  To grow this family.

  I squeeze Abby’s hand harder as the Renegades defense holds the other team to only a yard.

  It’s third down.

  The game is nearly over.

  My man’s team is in the lead.

  If the Renegades defense can shut the other team down for good.

  On the next play, the opposing quarterback lobs a Hail Mary pass that makes my heart crawl up my throat.

  But there’s no one open, and just like that, my boyfriend wins his third Super Bowl!

  “Daddy!” Abby shouts, thrusting her arms in the air.

  “He’s the best,” I cheer, elated and euphoric, along with the rest of my friends.

  Confetti falls.

  Music blares.

  And the winners rush to celebrate on the field.

  It’s wild and exhilarating, and since I feel like I’m d
ancing in the sky, I can’t even imagine the emotions swirling through the man I love.

  A few minutes into our sideline celebration, Emerson grabs my arm then nods at Abby.

  “Look who’s here.”

  Emerson tugs me, and Abby by extension, to the sidelines. In a flash, I’m grinning and I can’t stop.

  My guy is there for us, waiting, like he was a few months ago after the game in San Francisco.

  Harlan reaches for me, and I hop down into his arms. Emerson lifts up Abby, and Harlan scoops her into his arms next. “Hey, little bear, what did you think? Was that boring?”

  “Not at the end when you won,” she says, matter-of-factly.

  As he holds his little girl, he turns his gaze to me. “Did I go out in style or what?”

  “You sure did,” I say, beaming. “I am so proud of you.”

  “Good. Because this is the perfect time to ask you something.”

  What on earth does he have to ask me on the field teeming with reporters and teammates and Gatorade and noise and music, and . . .

  My hand flies to my mouth.

  Harlan has dropped down to one knee.

  Abby squeals.

  The sweaty, game-winning guy of my dreams has a velvet box in his hand, and I’ve no idea where it came from. Emerson? But who cares, because he’s talking.

  Loud and clear.

  “I love you so much, Katie Madigan. And I planned to ask you this whether we won or lost, because you’re what I want beyond this moment. For all time. For always. I love you madly. Will you marry me tonight?”