“I’m getting used to this domestic thing with you.” I kissed her cheek.
We started eating.
I filled her in on what came up this morning, how the team planned for the WAGs to join them for the game-watch party. She nodded along, already on board.
Then she sighed. “Did I bring you bad luck or what?”
I reached for her hand. “Yeah, the kind of bad luck I want every day. Making it to the Cup, holding you against me in my bed all night, and falling harder for you again and again.”
I leaned in and kissed her, and she grinned into it.
The strategy session wrapped up a little after four, the last slide clicking off, and I closed my laptop. The guys filtered out, cracking jokes, some already tugging off practice layers on their way to change. I stayed behind, straightening things that were already neat, waiting for the hum in my head to settle.
Then I headed to the office to swap into jeans, a button-down, and the unstructured blazer I kept stashed for events that blurred the line between team and press. Moccasins instead of gym shoes, low-key, but still put-together.
My mind flicked back to this morning. After leaving Mel in the kitchen, I dug out my mother’s ring and looked at it. It stayed inits box for now. Funny. I’d never once considered giving it to my ex, I’d shopped for her ring, but with Mel, I didn’t hesitate. Each woman was different from the other in a way I couldn’t explain. One was a stage, the other was home. Yeah, I was that guy now, and it fit.
The ring wasn’t extravagant—an oval sapphire rimmed with small diamonds, a classic gold band worn smooth with time. My dad gave it to my mom for their ten-year vow renewal, back when things were still good, before the bottom fell out.
Mel didn’t know the story yet, but it felt right. She was soft where I needed steady, fierce when I needed fire. She moved in tune with me, trusted me to guide her through uncomfortable territory. When she was vulnerable, she sought me out. Her humor, her work ethic. She was complete—and it didn’t hurt that she was also a heartbreaker.
As the time to see her approached, my pulse kicked harder.
I made it to the press-conference lounge and found a few guys standing outside chatting, Brent and Colton among them.
“Coach, we made sure to clean up,” Brent said, then spun for effect.
I grinned. Colton lifted his blazer and gave himself a preening shrug. He looked runway-trained instead of ready for a locker-room brawl.
“The VIP’s in the house, folks, behave,” came Logan’s voice.
I turned in time to catch his peace sign before he ducked inside.
Then Mel walked down the hall, right into my line of sight.
She looked even more beautiful than she had that morning. Skinny jeans, heeled sandals, a loose silk blouse that looked effortless and devastatingly sexy at the same time. Lips painted deep, soft curls brushing past her shoulders. My brain hiccupped.
“Cutie, if I forget how to speak tonight, it’ll be your fault for walking in here looking like that.”
She grinned. “Then I’ll just coach for you.”
She was ready to take over the team, I wouldn’t mind her by my side for the long haul. At all.
We walked in to a relaxed atmosphere. People half-watched the pregame panel, half snuck glances at Mel. It was her first time in a team sit-down that wasn’t about work.
Asher came up, grinning. “Damn, Mel, you look nice.”
“She always does,” I said, cutting him off.
“It’s going to be a fun watch party. The WAGs brought makeup bags for touch-ups,” he continued.
“You’re joking,” Mel said, skeptical eyes narrowing on Asher.
“Nope. It seems makeup remodeling between rounds is a thing,” Asher replied.
I chuckled.
Mel laughed. “And I don’t mind it. Not one bit,” she said.
