“I need you to know something,” I whisper.
His eyes are serious, but he stops, nods, and waits for me to go on.
“This was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
He opens his mouth, but I squeeze his fingers, cutting him off.
“And…” I find the courage to finish. “When I’m with you—coos or not—I need you to know that I don’t feel empty.”
His eyes flare.
“I won’t forget today,” I murmur. “And I won’t forgetthat.And I promise you I’ll find a way to make you feel everything I’m feeling right now.”
Because he deserves that.
Because whether or not he realizes it, his life has been far too empty too.
He starts to shake his head. “I don’t expect?—”
I place my free hand over his mouth, lean in, and know that it’s not really a matter of falling for him. That happened years ago. Today, these last couple of weeks…I’ve alreadyfallen. “I know you don’t expect anything in return, sweetheart.” I drop my hand, lean in, and kiss him with everything I’m feeling. “And that,” I murmur when I lift my head, heart pounding, “is exactly why I’m making you this promise.”
“Red—”
“No more emptiness. Not for either of us.”
THIRTY
Damon
I’ve beenon the phone all fucking day.
And I hate being on the fucking phone.
It’s—hands down—the worst part of my job.
Scouting new guys, working on trades, watching games and checking out our competition, keeping my finger on the pulse of how other teams in our division—and the league as a whole—are playing…all of those are fine.
Hell, they’re fun most of the time.
I can even tolerate the other shit—talking with legal, doing the limited press I do (because Joey does an excellent job of being the face and voice of the team), tracking trades and budgets and performance reviews.
But talking on the phone—especially in the early days of negotiating contracts that end this season—is hell.
Especially when one of those contracts belongs to Lake Jordan.
He’s the biggest hit to our salary cap.
And he deserves the money he’s pulling.
But his agent is a fucking shark, so adding insult to injury, it’s not just one call. It’s a string of phone calls and they’re painful phone calls and they’renecessaryphone calls.
Fucking annoying as shit.
“I can make that happen,” I tell her when she finishes listing out several more concessions we’ll have to make—including a three-team trade clause.
Meaning, if we ever have to move him, it’ll be only to one of those three teams.
See?
