I drop my bag by the couch, grinning. “Not bad, huh? Balcony, minibar, king-size bed. All the essentials.”
She glances back at me, one brow arched. “All theessentials for who, exactly? ’Cause it sure as hell sounds like you.”
I spread my arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Obviously. I’m high maintenance.”
That earns me a snort, which I count as a win. She crosses to the minibar, grabs a water, and twists the cap off.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, but there’s the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
I stroll closer, hands shoved in my pockets, tilting my head. “Funny. You keep saying that, but you still agreed to marry me.”
“Fake marry you,” she corrects, taking a sip.
“Details,” I shrug, smirking. “Paperwork still says Amelia Hayes.”
Her eyes narrow, but her cheeks flush, and God, I could live off that reaction alone.
She sets the bottle down with a sharp little click. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Nope.” I grin, closing the space between us until she’s leaning back against the minibar. “But you love it.”
She tilts her head, eyes sparkling. “You’re confusing me with someone who likes headaches.”
“C’mon, dollface,” I murmur, lowering my voice just enough. “You don’t look too miserable sharing a suite with me.”
For a second, she doesn’t answer. Then she smirks, pushes at my chest lightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
I laugh, stepping back just as my phone buzzes with the dinner reminder. I glance at it, groaning.
Amelia slips past me toward her bag, her hips swaying like she knows I’m watching. “Guess you’ll have to annoy me at dinner instead.”
I grin, shaking my head. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan to.”
As soon as we head down into the private dining area, JP’s laughing too hard at something Pierce just said, while waving a breadstick dangerously close to Pierce’s eye.
Amelia slides in beside me, tucking her hair behind her ear. I pull her closer, my hand tightening around her waist as I lean down to whisper, “You gonna let me peel that dress off you later, dollface?”
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as she swats at my chest.
Coach Mike clears his throat, standing at the head of the table. “Alright, listen, you fucks.” His voice booms, instantly silencing half the table. “I don’t care if you’re shoving garlic bread down your throats; tomorrow’s game is important. You hear me?”
“Tomato game,” JP mocks, grinning, earning a quick smack to the back of the head from Pierce.
Coach points at them, his mustache twitching. “You two, shut the fuck up.”
The table erupts in laughter. Amelia hides a smile behind her wine glass, her green eyes flicking to me like she’s surprised by the circus I live in.
Coach keeps going, stabbing a finger in my direction. “And you, Hayes. You better lock in or I’ll bench your ass so fast your sponsors won’t even have time to cry about it.”
The whole table howls. I grin, leaning back in my chair, throwing an arm over Amelia’s chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Bench me? C’mon, Coach, then who’s gonna make us look good on ESPN?”
“Anybody else,” Coach fires back.
More laughter.
Pierce nearly chokes on his breadstick. Amelia actually laughs this time, shaking her head. “You’re really good at making friends,” she whispers, low enough just for me.
I nudge her knee under the table, smirking. “What can I say? I’m lovable.”
