The restaurant erupts in shocked murmurs.
On screen, the reporter looks as surprised as everyone else. "That's…unexpected," she stammers. "May I ask why? You're considered one of the top prospects in?—"
"Because my everything has one more year of college left," Ramsey says, his eyes finding the camera, and I swear he's looking right at me through the screen. "And if anyone thinks I'm not utterly obsessed with her, they haven't been paying attention."
My heart stops. I feel everyone's eyes swing to me, but I can't look away from his face on the TV.
"I won't spend a night away from her," he continues, his voice dropping lower, more intense. "Ever."
The restaurant explodes with reactions—some "awws,"some wolf whistles, and at least one "that's fucking psychotic, bro!" from the drunk guy at the bar.
I feel my face burning, but there's also this ridiculous flutter in my chest, like my heart's trying to beat its way out through my ribs.
On screen, the reporter's recovered enough to ask, "So you're saying you're prioritizing your relationship over your career?"
Ramsey's eyes narrow slightly. "I'm saying I'm prioritizing what matters, and that’s her. It’s only ever her. And my nephews and nieces."
Back in the restaurant, I turn to the real Ramsey beside me, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You didn't tell me?—"
He cuts me off with a kiss so fierce it steals my breath, his hand sliding up to cup my face. When he pulls back, his eyes are burning with an intensity that makes me weak.
Ramsey's jaw tightens as he turns to glare at his cousins who are snickering. "Don't fucking start with me. I don't see any of you leaving your wives for a night, so I don't wanna hear shit about fuck. Now can we please fucking eat and hand me my niece? I'd like to have both my favorite girls who are wearing my number with me."
My heart practically melts at the way he says it—possessive and proud all at once. The fact that I'm wearing his jersey, that Rebel's tiny Blackwood onesie matches mine—it clearly does something to him.
Penn snorts, reaching over to scoop Rebel up from Reagan's lap. "Wait, don't you be fucking stealing mydaughter. She's mine; I made her. She's got my genes and already shows promise to rival her brothers."
"You're disgusting," I laugh, watching as Penn cradles Rebel protectively against his chest.
"Just stating facts," Penn says with a shrug. "This little princess is gonna rule the world someday. Aren't you, little hellfire?" He coos at Rebel, who responds by trying to grab his nose.
"She's wearing my fucking number," Ramsey argues, pointing at the tiny Blackwood jersey Reagan dressed Rebel in. "That means she's mine for the night."
"In your dreams," Penn scoffs. "You can make your own fucking baby to dress in your jersey."
My cheeks burn hot at his words, but we both ignore it.
Reagan catches my expression and smirks knowingly. "Oh my god, you two are ridiculous." She shakes her head. "She can sit with Uncle Mini-Me, but only because he's the big hockey star tonight."
Penn grudgingly passes Rebel across the table, and Ramsey's entire demeanor softens as he settles her on his lap. It's fucking devastating, watching his big hands cradle her tiny body so carefully, seeing the way his face transforms when she reaches up to pat his cheek.
"Look at you," I tease, leaning against his shoulder. "Big bad hockey player turned into absolute mush."
"Only for my girls," he says, kissing the top of Rebel's head before turning to brush his lips against my temple.
The waitress returns with our food, her eyes lingering on Ramsey a bit too long for my liking. I slide my hand up to hisneck, my fingers pressing into the skin there like my own brand of ownership.
"Thanks," I say pointedly, "that’ll be all Lexay."
The table erupts in howls of laughter, and I even hear someone hiss, "Ooo kitten has claws."
You damn fucking right I do. I already killed one dumb bitch over this man, and I’d do it again.
Without doubt.
Without remorse.
Because in the end it’s him and I.
