He opens the door for me, eyes lingering long enough to make my pulse stutter.
The cabbie confirms the hotel address, and we drive through the glittering maze of Manhattan. I can’t shake the thought that the spell between us might fade once we’re back, when the city stops spinning and reality comes rushing in.
Rogue drapes his arm around me, and I lean in, my head finding the solid rhythm of his heart. The world outside blurs into streaks of gold and neon. We sit in silence, looking out at the lights of a city that suddenly feels softer, smaller, and absolutely ours.
When we reach the hotel, he steps out first, offering his hand to help me from the cab. The lobby is alive with movement, people coming and going, suitcases rolling across polished marble, voices echoing under chandeliers.
We’re barely through the doors when a group of guys recognizes him.
“Gallagher!” one calls out, grinning wide. “Man, you were a beast last match!”
The shift is immediate. In an instant, Rogue becomes the version of himself the world knows—serious, composed, a little detached. He thanks them with that deep, easy voice that carries authority, and signs a couple of jerseys, footballs, and even a few gloves. I hang back, giving him space as he moves through the crowd with ease.
But even while he’s surrounded, I feel his attention on me. He glances over every few seconds, checking, making sure I’m still there.
Then a small boy, maybe eight, pushes through the crowd and runs straight to him, eyes wide and wet. Without hesitation, Rogue crouches down, meeting him at eye level. The boy throws his arms around his neck, and Rogue hugs him back, gentle and steady, one big hand resting protectively over the kid’s back.
A young woman hurries up behind him—pretty, with tired eyes and a nervous smile. “Oh, Rogue,” she says breathlessly, “he loves you. You’re his hero.”
Rogue doesn’t look away from the boy. “That right, lad? You play?”
The boy nods, wiping his face. “Goalkeeper.”
“That so?” A hint of pride flickers in his voice. “Then you’ve got the best job in the world.”
He signs the boy’s jersey, right over his heart, and the kid beams, smiling and crying. The mother asks if they can take a picture, and Rogue nods. Then I realize he’s still wearingmyhat.
“Roger,” I call, catching his attention.
He turns, every bit of focus snapping to me. I smile and point to my head. “Your hat,” I tease.
He laughs under his breath, takes it off, and flips it backward before settling it back on his head. The move shouldn’t do things to me, but it does. Seeing him grinning at a kid while a city full of strangers watches, hits me somewhere deep.
He finishes taking photos, says his goodbyes, and makes his way back to me. The crowd parts easily for him, and when he reaches me, his shoulders ease.
We head toward the elevators together in shared silence, the air between us humming again. When the doors close, the quiet feels almost intimate.
“Are you stayin’ in the room next to mine?” he asks.
“Eight-twenty-five,” I confirm.
We step out on our floor and walk past his door to mine. I glance at the handle and lower my voice. “June might already be in there. Probably best if we don’t make too much noise.”
He looks at me with a mischievous glint, that half smile that could ruin lives.
The rational part of me claws its way back to the surface. “We’re going to have to talk about this,” I whisper. “Figure out how we’re going to make this work.”
He nods once, steps closer—so close his breath warms my cheek. I should say goodnight. Walk away. Do anything but this. But when he steps closer, every thought I’ve ever had just disappears.
“Roger…” His name has barely left my mouth before his hand finds the small of my back and brings me flush against him. His other hand cradles my face as he kisses me—quick, fierce, breathtaking.
It’s not long, but it steals every ounce of air from my lungs. When he pulls back just enough to look at me, my knees feel weak, the hallway spinning around us.
“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, promise threading every word. His thumb brushes my jaw, and then, softly, he says, “You’re mine, kitten. You just don’t know it yet.”
The sound of a door opening breaks the moment.
“Cat?”
