“I can see that.” Dad kissed my forehead. “I want you to be happy, baby girl. And I think he makes you happy, I haven’t seen you smile since . . .” His own smile fell. “Since, Miller Quinton.”
For the first time in years, when my dad said his name—there was no ache. No longing. No anger. No pain at the loss of my best friend and my unborn baby. The memory of those feelings was there, but both Miller and Sanchez had helped me put back together all of the pieces that had once been burned, and breathed new life into them. Sanchez with his love and Miller with his friendship, something that I knew I would treasure the rest of my life.
“Miller and I are actually friends again.” I don’t know why it felt necessary to tell my dad things that I knew within minutes or hours he’d most likely forget, but he was such an important part of what happened with Miller that I felt it was unfair not to give him closure. “He’s playing for the Bucks.”
“The hell he is!” Dad grinned. “And things are good? Tell me everything!” And just like that, Dad’s entire demeanor changed. “Does he start for the team? What are his stats?”
Ten minutes.
I was given ten minutes with the dad I knew.
The old dad.
The one who memorized football facts and beat me at fantasy football every year.
The dad who loved football almost as much as I did.
The dad who’d held me when I’d lost my baby.
The dad who told me that eventually things would be okay, that life would go on.
“I’m so damn proud,” Dad finally said, “that you’ve fixed things between you . . .” A funny look flashed across his features. “You know, I like that Grant Sanchez though . . .”
I burst out laughing. “Yeah, me too, Dad, me too.”
He chuckled and kissed my forehead then walked back to his recliner, grabbed a seat, and pressed power on the remote.
“Oh, and honey?” Dad called. “Don’t stay out too late, remember you still have a curfew!”
And just like that the moment was gone.
But I didn’t care.
Because I’d been given a gift.
Not only closure with Miller.
But closure for my dad, even if he never realized it, I had to believe that he needed it, that it made a difference, even if just for ten minutes of his life.
By the time I made it to the apartment, Sanchez’s car was parked in its usual spot. I smiled to myself and made my way up the elevator. I’d just reached for the door when it jerked open, and I was lifted into the air by his massive hands and slammed against the nearest wall, his mouth silencing any protest I may have had.
Would it always be like this? So explosive? So perfect?
He grinded against me, already aroused, already ready.
I broke away from the kiss on a moan as he trailed more hot, wet kisses down the side of my neck, only to release my body just enough so I could slide down the wall.
“So perfect.” He kissed my nose, then my forehead, before grabbing my T-shirt and pulling it over my head. The minute I tried to suck in a breath, his mouth was there again, teasing, plundering, making sure that every inch his tongue hit was fully explored, almost as if he was afraid he was going to miss out on some golden opportunity each time his mouth slanted over mine.
I hated how good he always tasted.
Because it was impossible not to respond to him.
And something told me that his meeting hadn’t gone well, maybe it was in the rushed kissing, or the way his hands kept peeling off my clothes until I was standing in front of him almost completely naked.
He picked me up, tossed me over his shoulder, and walked into the living room. When he set me down, he was already making quick work of his own clothes before picking me up again and setting me on the piano.
My eyebrows shot up. “You play?”
“Hell yes, I play.” He ducked his head.
I groaned. “So not what I meant.”
“I’m gifted in all areas,” he said gruffly. “Don’t you think?”
I spread my legs for more of him.
With a hoarse curse he found my mouth again, and then he was tugging me to the very edge, until I was ready to fall off the expensive piece.
Instead, I fell onto him.
Or he fell into me.
Maybe, we just fell into each other.
With quick thrusts, he was already driving me crazy.
“Needed you, baby.” His dizzying kisses made it impossible to keep up as his mouth met mine again and again. I couldn’t think straight. Every inch of my body was on fire for him, holding him close, begging him to never stop.
Or maybe that was just my yelling. “Don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!”
“Not planning on it.” He swallowed my cry and filled me to the hilt, staying there for a brief moment before moving again, and then cold air hit my butt as he walked us from the piano to the couch. He sat back, his eyes at half-mast as he shook his head and muttered, “Damn.”
“What?”
I could feel him pulsing inside of me, and yet he didn’t move. He was straining to, every muscle taut.
“What’s that look?”
“Smug satisfaction.” He stole another kiss before cupping my hips and forcing me to move on top of him. I’d never been secure being this naked—not even by myself, not really.
The lights were on.
And I was basically having the ride of my life.
On Grant Sanchez.
I wasn’t sure if I should be horrified with my own behavior.
Or thankful that I felt his love so strongly that I didn’t once think about the fat at my sides or the cellulite on my legs. Because he looked at me the way every girl deserves to be looked at.
Like he was the lucky one.
I fell in love a little bit more, not even realizing it was possible as I moved on top of him, giving him everything I had as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
He clenched his jaw. “Killing me, baby.”
I leaned over until the tip of my breasts grazed his chest. “Good.”
“You’ll pay for that, tease.” He gripped my ass and drove into me so hard I saw stars—and felt my body explode on impact.
Chest heaving, he grinned. “Told ya.”
“Cocky piece of work,” I said lamely after laying my head against his warm bare chest.
“That’s why you love me,” he said confidently. “You’ll always know where I stand because I don’t have the censor to keep from talking good or bad. You’ll always know, Curves.”
I gulped. “So, does that mean the meeting went bad?”
He froze and then rubbed his hands down my arms. “Not exactly sure. All I know is this.” He gripped my chin between his thumb and finger. “You’re it for me. I know it’s been two months. But I know. I just know. And I don’t give a shit if the whole world knows too. I just . . . I guess I need to know if you’re on the same page.”
I slammed my mouth against his and then punched him in the arm.
“What?” He groaned. “Why? You know I got beat up today!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Were the boys on the playground rude to you?” I teased.
“Sarcastic little—”
I covered his mouth with mine again then pulled back. “I’m here. With you.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Grant Sanchez, I’ve got you.” I sighed and placed a hand on his head. “Not just here, you dumb football player . . .”
He grinned.
“But here.” I grabbed his hand and placed it on my heart. “Now any more stupid questions, or can I bake you cookies?”
He groaned. “Cookies then more sex?”
“You can’t just have sex during all of your free time.”
He pouted. “Who the hell says?”
“People who need sleep!” I crawled off him only to have him swat me in the ass.
“I love that ass,” he whispered reverently. “Bend over for me?”
My cheeks burned b
right red.
He laughed. “Ah, there it is. I needed that today, Curves. That blush that I know is only for me. Thanks for that.”
“Sometimes I hate you.” I crossed my arms over my body.
“Aw, Em, don’t cover them up. What did I tell you? It causes cancer!”
“It does not!” The guy was unbelievable.
“I read it online.” He nodded his head. “Bras bad. No bras, good.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me.” He stood. His body was so ripped I sucked in a breath and felt my cheeks heating again. “I know that look.”
Without saying anything else, he turned me around and pushed me onto the ottoman. “And that, folks, is a view I’d kill for.”
I opened my mouth to say something snappy but shut up the minute I felt the tip of him again. Ready for me, yearning.
I arched my back and glanced over my shoulder. “You were saying?”
His chest rose and fell so fast that I wondered if he was going to hyperventilate. “You’re perfect for me. Made for me.” He ran his hands down my back, then the back of his knuckles skimmed across the skin of my thighs before he locked eyes with me and said, “This okay?”
“More than okay.”
“Thank God, because I don’t know what I’d do if you denied me right now.”
“Nothing to cry about, Sanchez.” I winked.
And then couldn’t help but shyly watch as he pressed into me and did what he did best. Love.
Chapter Forty
SANCHEZ
Game 3
Pirates vs. Bucks
Home Turf
Favored Team: Bellevue Bucks
I needed my mind in the right place, and Em had this uncanny ability to focus me where nobody else could. She was my center, my gravity. I worked through my warm-up routine and shoved jackass Jackson’s words out of my head.
Focus, focus, focus.
I counted to ten.
Jumped twenty times.
Walked the field and listened to some Mozart—my secret, and one I knew I’d eventually confess to Em just because I didn’t want anything between us. I knelt and felt the grass between my fingers, then the dirt. I counted the distance from the fifty-yard line to the goal on both sides.
And I envisioned every single catch I’d make.
I thought about the Pirates’ weaknesses and how to expose them and went through every route I knew Jax would call.
I was ready.
A half hour later, I was walking with Jax toward the middle of the field for the coin toss.
“Home team, Bucks. What’s your call?”
“Tails.” Jax always called tails. The last time he called heads we lost. It was his thing.
“Tails.” The ref blew his whistle. “Kick or receive?”
“Receive,” Jax said in a bored voice as we shook hands with the Pirates’ captains. I could have sworn Hennesey had gotten a spray tan. Either that, or he’d been traveling and spending his millions like an idiot—again.
When we walked back, Jax mumbled under his breath. “Did that douche get a spray tan?”
“Exactly,” I responded.
Special teams went out and did their thing. Johnson ran a good thirty-yard return, which always made me breathe a bit easier since Jax hated starting the game with a pass. He liked to pound the defense so they got tired before we started throwing. It was his way to avoid interceptions. He was paranoid, and even though people knew how he worked—how our team worked—they still had trouble beating us, so until it failed, we did it our way every time.
The first play was a fake to Miller. Jax ran in for a first down and slid before he got his head taken off by one of the lineman.
“Pussy!” someone from the Pirates yelled. Yeah, he’s a pussy alright for not wanting to break his leg? Sometimes I hated football because of those guys, the ones who were too stupid to make sense.
“Coke Zero flag on two!” Jax clapped.
Basically, that meant I was up.
Once the ball was hiked, I ran like hell straight down the field, faked to a hard right, and waved for the pass.
I felt the defensive player coming for me, so it was either bail, or catch and tighten up.
I caught the ball and turned.
Right into another defensive player.
Slammed between two of them midair before I crumpled to the ground and saw spots.
I blinked, tried to stand up, then collapsed.
Miller was at my side immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I shook my head. “Just a hard hit. I was a fucking cheese sandwich. I hate being the cheese.”
Miller snorted out a laugh. “Don’t we all?”
“Cheese smells,” Jax added once he knew I was okay and not concussed. “Besides, I’d rather be—”
“Lettuce,” Miller and I said in unison. “We know.”
I stayed on the field for the next play, thankful that Jax was going to run it, but by the time we got to the third down, we’d only gone another fifteen yards.
We needed this point to set ourselves up.
Back in the huddle, Jax listened to his earpiece.
“Double Mountain Dew times two.” He grinned up at Miller.
“Well shit.” Miller sighed. “Let’s do this.”
The minute the play was called, I ran up to block while Jax threw a side pass to Miller and then made a run for it for the goal.
Miller threw the spiral so hard I winced when Jax caught it in the end zone.
Naturally, Miller was taken out by one of the defensive ends, but he was a big enough dude I knew he’d be okay.
“Touchdown Bucks!” the announcer called as the fake sound of fireworks and music erupted over the stadium.
We had it. I knew we had it.
I looked over to Em and winked.
It was a mistake to break concentration.
It was a mistake because suddenly I remembered I was playing a game.
It was a mistake because the minute I glanced back, one of the cameras panned to Emerson and put her on the big screen.
Yeah, I’d just put a giant target on her.
And I knew the media were going to be relentless afterward.
Especially Jacki.
Shit.
Chapter Forty-One
EMERSON
They won the next five straight games.
And even after I was shown on the big screen, nobody asked Sanchez questions about his love life.
It seemed like everything was finally settling.
The only thing I hated was his away games. It’s not that I didn’t trust him; it was just that I knew what went on when guys got together. And I knew that there were plenty of girls who wanted nothing more than to seduce the crap out of someone like Sanchez.
Visions of Lily always popped up then.
So, I’d have Kinsey over, we’d laugh about it, and I’d shake it off.
We were at Jax’s place watching the guys annihilate the Jacksonville Tigers when I had a bad feeling. I couldn’t explain it, other than when I talked to him on the phone, I’d felt like I was losing it. I just . . . I didn’t want him to play. What kind of girlfriend was I? I even texted Miller to make sure that he watched out for Sanchez.
I knew the next play; Grant and I had kind of teased one another about how he knew my playbook so well it was about damn time I learned his. So I did, mostly because it turned him on, and I liked the dirty football talk it provided. Miller was supposed to get the ball, but there was double protection, and Sanchez was open.
Jax threw a prayer. It was a long shot.
Sanchez, being Sanchez, caught it, but not before getting hit so hard that his helmet flew off.
I screamed, covering my face with my hands.
He wasn’t moving.
“He’s not moving.” I couldn’t stop shaking. “Kinsey, he’s not moving!”
“Calm down.” She grabbed one of my hands. “Sometimes they tell the players not to m
ove, especially if they’re worried about a head injury.”
“Okay.” Tears filled my eyes. “He’s okay, right? He’s going to be okay?”
She was quiet. Too quiet.
Her face went from green to pale.
Something was wrong.
The camera zoomed in. He was blinking, swallowing. The other team was on one knee, and Miller and Jax were hovered over him.
I started to hyperventilate.
“No, no, just breathe, in and out. There you go.” Kinsey rubbed my arm while we waited for information from the announcer.
“Folks . . .” He sighed. “I’m getting news from downstairs that Grant Sanchez is being taken to the hospital for a possible spine injury.”
It would be the end of his career.
The end of his life.
The end of everything.
“Please God, no,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
They cut to commercial. I was already grabbing my laptop and booking a ticket when my phone rang.
It was Miller.
“Get your ass down here now.” He didn’t sound like himself. “Em, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t—I should have been open. I’m so—”
“No.” I heaved out a sob. “It’s not your fault, Miller. It’s not, okay?”
“My agent’s going to call you with all the details of your flight. I’m taking care of it. Bring Kins with you. They’re sending the jet.”
The phone fell out of my hands.
Kinsey’s face went pale. “Did he say—”
“They’re sending the jet,” I whispered.
“Oh, Em.” Tears filled her eyes as she wrapped her arms around me and held me while I cried.
It was like moving through sand. I tried to pack but couldn’t even focus on what socks to bring. He could be dying, and all I could think about were stupid socks and if they matched and . . .
I broke down too many times to function.
I always wondered what could be worse. After losing Miller, losing our unborn child. What could possibly be worse? How could the human heart handle any more pain?
I finally knew.
I really did.
This. This was worse. Knowing that the love of your life is hundreds of miles away without you—possibly breathing his last breath—and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it but pray.
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