Blake just grins.
I groan. Loudly. “You are a sick, sick man, Blake Riley.”
The grin collapses as he breaks out in laughter. “Aw, relax. Of course I didn’t say yes. I’m notthatmuch of a slut.”
“Bullshit,” Eriksson’s voice wafts over from across the aisle. I guess I wasn’t the only one enthralled by Blake’s blast from the past. “You’re a dog, Riley.”
“Woof!” Blake calls back.
Eriksson howls in return, which makes Forsberg join in, and then half my teammates are howling like a bunch of idiots until Coach Hal finally rises from his seat and says, “Shut the fuck up, dumbasses.” He sinks back down, and I hear him muttering to our defensive coordinator, “It’s like dealing with children.”
I choke down a laugh. Yeah, I suppose he’s right. Wearechildren. Overgrown, testosterone-filled children.
I’m still in surprisingly good humor when the bus finally pulls up to the hotel where we’re staying. I thank the driver and follow Blake down the steps, already loosening my tie as my dress shoes hit the pavement. Frank won’t like it that I’m slobbing up before I'm in the privacy of my room, but I don’t give a flying fuck what Frank—
Crap. Maybe Idocare. There are half a dozen reporters in the lobby. Cameras flash and a couple of microphones get shoved under my nose. I stifle a groan. I’m not in the mood to talk to the press, and I inwardly curse Frank for not warning me that last night’s interview would summon the media to swarm our hotel.
Of course, they don’t ask a single question about tonight’s game. Eriksson and Blake shoot me sympathetic looks as oneof the reporters harasses me about my “gay relationship”. I’m seconds away from snapping that a relationship is a relationship and he doesn’t need to qualify it with “gay”, but I suddenly feel Blake’s hand on my shoulder.
“Bar,” he murmurs.
I clench my teeth. Screw that. I don’t need a drink right now. I just need to disappear upstairs.
Shaking my head, I mutter, “I don’t feel like drinking—”
Blake cuts me off and says, “Bar.” Firmer this time.
With a frown, I shift my gaze toward the bar area in the lobby, and my heart soars and plummets simultaneously.
Jamie.
Jamie ishere.
He’s seated at a table near the counter, his brown eyes searching the crowd until they lock with mine. My heart somersaults before landing in my throat.
What is hedoinghere? And how the hell am I going to get to him without giving the press a photo op that will no doubt embarrass us both?
I’m torn between sprinting toward him and texting him to meet me upstairs, but Jamie takes the decision out of my hands. As I watch wide-eyed, he gracefully rises from his chair and makes his way toward me. His long stride eats up the marble floor beneath his sneakers. His blond hair ruffles as he rakes one hand through it. He’s holding something in his other hand. I squint. Fuck me. It’s the box. Or rather, it’sabox. Not the one that exchanged hands multiple times last summer, but close enough.
I stare at him, wondering what this means, wondering why he’s not in California, why he flew all the way to Dallas—
Shit. The vultures have smelled blood.
Several curious heads turn in Jamie’s direction as hecrosses the massive lobby. A flashbulb goes off, but still, he doesn’t stop. He keeps me trapped in a serious stare and erases the distance between us, and then he’s in front of me, those brown eyes twinkling playfully as he leans closer and—
Kisses me.
Panic and joy streak inside me as his lips briefly touch mine. There’s no tongue. No overt passion. But when he eases back, the desire in his expression is impossible to miss. Jesus. I hope the cameras didn’t capture that lust-filled glint, but Jamie seems completely oblivious to the proverbial spotlight that’s narrowed in on us.
“Hey,” he says softly.
I miraculously find my voice. “Hey. What…what are you doing here?” Beside me, Blake is grinning so widely I’m surprised his face doesn’t crack in half.
“Can we, uh, talk privately?” Jamie’s head swivels as he finally notices all the people staring at us.
“Of c-course,” I stutter.
Blake clamps a hand on my shoulder. “There’s another set of elevators back there.” He tips his big head toward the distant end of the bar.
