For the first time ever, I wasn’t camped out near the back, trying not to draw attention to myself. Trying to convince myself it wasn’t weird for me to be there, that best friends and former roommates did this kind of thing all the time.
This time, I was there as Taylor Morrison’s boyfriend, andeverybodyin the room knew it.
Taylor came through the door riding the high of their win, his hair damp from the shower, his eyes sweeping left and right until they found me. His whole face lit up, and he crossed the space in about four strides.
“Hi,” he said, kissing me hello completely unselfconsciously, one hand cupping the back of my neck like we’d been doing this in public for years.
“You played so well,” I told him when he pulled back.
“Yeah?” He dropped his voice to a low, sexy rumble, his grin turning wicked. “You gonna give me a reward for a job well done, baby?”
“Speaking of jobs …” I said, barely able to contain my excitement. “I just got offered one.”
All at once, Taylor’s face fell. “Oh?” He scratched the side of his cheek, his eyes darting away and going unfocused before he reluctantly dragged them back to me. "When does it start?”
I knew that look. He was already doing the math, thinking about flight schedules, potential time zone differences, andhow many days a month we could realistically hope to spend together. I also knew he wasn’t going to ask me not to go.
“January,” I said, feeling a little bit like a dick for making him sweat it out.
He nodded. “Okay, so soon.”
“Yeah,” I nodded back, my tone matching his as I fought a grin.
“Where to now?”
I gave up holding back my smile. “Down the street, actually. I’m going to be Kendra’s Chief of Staff.”
The shift was immediate—his chin dropped, his mouth opened, and for a full second, he just stared at me like I’d said something in a language he didn’t quite understand. Then he dropped his bag and let out awhoopthat turned every head in the room our way. He lifted me clean off the ground, spinning us once before setting me back down, laughing the entire time.
He grabbed my face in both hands. “Are you serious?”
“Completely serious.”
“You dick!” He kissed me hard. “You had me going there.” He kissed me a second time before pulling back and scanning the room. “Lavoie!”
Marc Lavoie glanced over from across the room, where his arm was draped across the shoulder of his wife, Gabi.
“That place you guys went for your anniversary?” Taylor called out. “What’s it called?”
“Fore Street, why?”
“Is it any good?”
“Incredible,” he hollered back, Gabi nodding beside him. “You’ll need a reservation,” she added.
“He’s not wrong.” David had once complained about having to wait two weeks for an opening.
“Gimme your phone,” he said, holding out his hand, palm up.
“Where’s yours?” I asked, already digging into my pocket.
“Shoved in my bag somewhere.”
He pulled up the number, glancing up at me almost shyly, and hit the call button. When someone picked up on the other end, he straightened slightly.
“Hi, um. This is Taylor Morrison. I play for the Marauders.” He hummed in agreement at whatever the person on the other end of the line said. “Itwasa great game tonight. In fact, I was kind of hoping to celebrate.” He paused for a long beat. “No, not the whole team. Just two of us.” The corner of his mouth pulled up, his eyes softening. “Seven o’clock?”
I looked at my watch and nodded. It’d be tight, but if we left in the next three minutes, we could make it.
