“Well, I had my good luck charms watching.” He sets her down and ruffles her hair. “Ready to head home? It’s past your bedtime.”
April groans. “But I’m not even tired.”
“You will be in about five minutes.” He glances at me, and his voice drops lower so only I can hear. “Besides, I need to get Mama to bed too.”
The way he says “Mama” sends heat straight through me, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
I lean in close, until my lips touch his ear. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. About this morning. I can still feel how hard you fucked me, but I want more.”
His grip on my waist tightens. “Oh, hell yes.”
“And did I tell you? I’m not wearing any panties under this jersey.”
His eyes flare with heat, and his jaw clenches. “We’re leaving. Right now.”
He takes my hand and practically hauls me toward the door, with April skipping along beside us, completely oblivious.
“Parker! Leaving already?” Theo calls from across the room. “Don’t you want to celebrate with us?”
“Not tonight,” he answers without slowing down. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Noah laughs. “Remember when you used to rush out after games to study footage? Now look at you.”
“My priorities have changed,” Grant shoots back, but he’s grinning.
“Yeah, we can tell!” Reese adds. “Have fun, you two!”
The guys all laugh and whistle, and I feel my face flush, but Grant just keeps walking, pulling me along with him.
Once we’re in the hallway, with April a few steps ahead of us, he leans down and whispers, “You’re going to pay for that comment about the panties.”
“I’m counting on it.”
His laugh is low and warm, and it fills me with so much happiness I think I might burst.
This is the man I fell in love with. Not the stoic, controlled goalie who kept everyone at arm’s length, but this version—the one who laughs and teases and loves so fiercely it takes my breath away.
I want to make him laugh like that for the rest of our lives.
Epilogue
Heather
I stretch up on my toes, reaching for the mixing bowl on the top shelf, but my very pregnant belly makes it impossible to get close enough to the counter. I grimace. Between the belly and the fact that I’ve been moving slower than usual, exhausted from wrapping up last-minute details with my team at the shelter before my maternity leave starts next week, I feel more ungainly doing basic tasks than I’d like to admit.
I’m about to try again when Grant appears behind me, easily closing his hand around the bowl and bringing it down.
“You know you’re supposed to ask me for help with this stuff,” he says as he sets it on the counter in front of me.
“I can still reach things. I’m pregnant, not helpless.”
“You’re nine months pregnant and due next week.” He moves closer, bringing his hand to rest on my belly. “I’m not taking any chances.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. He’s been like this for weeks, hovering and watching me like I might go into labor at any second. Which, to be fair, is a distinct possibility now that we’ve hit the thirty-seven-week mark.
“You’re impossible,” I say, still half-smiling.
“And you love it.”
