Iris grins, her fingers still resting against Milo's jaw. "I think I like package deals. A lot."
Milo's eyes go wide. "Is that code for something? Are we doing that again? I'm down but we need lube this time. Because last time I had to use my—"
Iris cuts him off with another kiss, this one hard enough to push him back against the counter, her teeth catching his bottom lip and tugging before she releases it. Her mouth drops to his neck, trailing down, and then her tongue drags up the side of his throat in one slow, purposeful stroke.
Milo shudders against the counter, his hands gripping the edge behind him, his breath hitching in his chest. The scent of slick hits the air a second later and his eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back. "That's... a really handy tactic." His voice comes out wrecked. "Fuck, okay. I'm ready."
I push off the doorframe and cross the kitchen. "But I'm on top this time." With my arm mostly healed, I want to take Iris apart like I’ve been dreaming of.
Iris turns to look at me, her eyebrow lifting, her lip caught between her teeth. "It feels like you're calling shotgun."
"I am calling shotgun."
She grumbles but there's no heat in it, already pulling Milo off the counter by the front of his shirt and steering all three of us toward the hallway. Milo stumbles along between us, his legs not fully cooperating, his scent flooding the apartment.
"I don't care where I am," he says, breathless, tripping over his own feet as Iris pushes the bedroom door open, "as long as I'm somewhere."
milo
TwoWeeksLater
The away stadium is louder than ours by a factor of ten, the crowd packed so tight that the noise hits me hard every time either team makes a play. But it makes sense since this is the championship game. It’s the last game of the season and last game of my career, because the NFL isn't calling for a kicker who's five-foot-two and cries during dog food commercials. I'm okay with that. I've got other plans.
Quentin jogs off the field as warmups wrap up, his shoulder fully healed, his cuts sharper than they've been all season. He passes by the section where Iris is sitting and doesn't slow down or make a show of it. He just turns his head, catches her eye, and blows her a kiss. Iris' smile takes over her whole face, and the two girls next to her elbow each other.
My brother just one-upped me in the romance department. In public. At a championship game.
That cannot stand.
People have been whispering for weeks about our relationship and as much as we’ve tried to keep a lid on it, we suck at it. Iris loves when Quentin catches her off guard and I love when Iris tugs me into corners or pulls me into aisles at the library for stolen moments.
Everyone knows the Vark twins are dating the coach’s daughter and funny enough… they’re jealous, don’t care, or frankly happy that there’s another happy ending that came out of the auction. Even Avery has been sending me emojis nonstop, demanding to know when I’m going to give him a full debriefing.
Focus, Milo.
My gaze trails the stands, locking on Avery who’s curled up in Declan’s lap. He throws me a double thumbs up and I can’t tell if that’s ‘good luck’ or ‘you better one up your brother’. I decide it’s both.
I spot Iris leaning on the railing as I grab my kicking tee and jog toward the sideline, still glowing from Quentin's little stunt. She sees me coming and her eyebrow lifts, reading my expression before I've even opened my mouth.
I don't slow down. I grab the railing with one hand, pull myself up, and kiss her. It's not subtle or pretty or practiced. It's Milo Vark grabbing the coach's daughter by the scarf and kissing her like he's going to war, which in a way he is, because this field goal is going to decide whether we go to overtime or win by three and I need every ounce of luck the universe has to offer.
"For good luck," I say against her mouth, grinning.
Iris's cheeks flush, her fingers gripping the front of my jersey. "You're insane."
A throat clears behind me.Loudly.
Coach Delacroix is standing three feet away with his arms crossed and his headset around his neck, his expressionhovering between exasperation and something that might be amusement if you squint hard enough.
"What are you going to do?" I spread my arms. "I'm graduating!"
Coach's mouth twitches. The laugh that escapes him is brief but real, surprising both of us. "Son, I will have your ass running drills until midnight if you don't make this kick." He nods toward the field. "She better have given you all the luck in the world."
I grin so wide my face aches. "I hope so too."
I grab my tee and run onto the field with a thousand people screaming and the game on the line and the taste of Iris still on my lips. The holder sets the ball. The snap comes in clean just as my plant foot hits the turf and my leg swings through.
I hold my breath, watching the ball sail through the air. For a full five seconds, there’s just silence. I tune out the world around me and focus on whether or not I’ve just saved myself from duck walks and crawls and whatever else Coach has in store for me.
