“I mean, I do have a very important date with my anatomy textbook. And there’s this documentary about penguins I’ve been meaning to watch...”
“Harlow.”
“Fine.” I let the smile break through, unable to contain it anymore. “Yes. Obviously yes. I would love to come.”
The grin that split across his face was worth every second of playing it cool. He practically launched himself off the bed, leaving me blinking at the sudden absence of warmth.
“Where are you...”
“Hold on. Stay there. Don’t move.”
He disappeared into his closet, and I heard hangers sliding and boxes being shuffled. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, curiosity getting the better of me.
“What are you...”
He emerged, holding something behind his back. His eyes were bright with excitement. But this felt different. Bigger.
“Close your eyes.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it. Please.”
I sighed dramatically but complied, letting my eyelids fall shut. I heard him cross the room and felt the mattress dip as he climbed back onto the bed. Something soft landed in my lap.
“Okay. Open.”
I looked down.
My breath caught.
It was a jersey. Brand new, the fabric was still stiff with that fresh-from-the-store crispness. Black with white and redaccents, his team’s colors. I lifted it up, letting it unfold, and my heart slammed against my ribs when I saw the back.
TAYLOR.
His name. His number, seventeen, was printed bold beneath it.
“Owen...”
“I want you to wear it.” He watched me carefully, his eyes dark and serious. “Friday night. At the game.”
“This is...” I ran my fingers over the letters, over the stitching, over this tangible proof of everything we’d become. “You got this for me?”
He nodded as he reached over, his hand covering mine where it rested on the jersey. “I know we said we’d wait to tell people and that we’re supposed to be keeping this quiet until we talk to Jax. But...” He exhaled, a shaky breath. “I’m tired of hiding and pretending like you’re not the most important person in my life.”
My throat went tight. “Owen.”
He took the jersey from my hands, setting it aside, and cupped my face in his palms. His thumbs traced my cheekbones as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine.
“Wear my name on your back,” he murmured, the words brushing against my lips. “Let me show you off. Let everyone in that arena see you in my jersey and know exactly who you belong to.”
He pressed a single kiss on my lips.
When he pulled back, his eyes were blazing.
“I want everyone to know,” he said. “That you’re mine.”
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back to me, kissing him harder, deeper, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the press of my lips against his. All those years of wanting. All those months of uncertainty. All of it dissolving into this one perfect moment.
