"That doesn't— Wait. Really?"
"Yep. I drafted at eighteen and signed with the Wind shortly after. I took online classes whenever I could to ensure I had a degree in case shit didn't work out."
"Wow," she says, impressed. "And here I thought you were just something pretty to look at."
I throw my head back, laughing loudly. "You're a merciless savage, you know that?"
"I'm aware." She grins at me. "I work with teenagers. If you aren't a little savage, you won't survive."
"So…athletic scholarships?"
"Yes. We have a lot of kids who are talented enough to play at the college level, but there isn't enough funding to go around, so they get passed over in favor of athletes whose families can assume some of the costs. If we start by creating a separate endowment specifically for athletically gifted students, we can give them a chance they otherwise wouldn't have," she murmurs. "And once we've funded it, it'll be easier to fund everything else."
"How so?"
"Results," she says, shrugging. "You can talk about GPAs and admissions test scores to potential donors all day long, but they don't really hear you. Academic measurements don't mean a whole lot to most people, especially when the world is full of successful people who damn near failed high school. But when you tell them that your organization helped send their new favorite college quarterback, running back, goalie, or whatever to college? They listen then."
"Clever."
"I know."
"When can you be in Chicago?"
"About that…"
"It's non-negotiable, beautiful."
"Why?"
Because I want you close.
"Because I have a job to do, too." It's not a lie. I do have a job to do, too. And she can't really argue with that. It's not like I can attend practice or ask Coach to let me play from here. But she can do a lot of what she does from anywhere, at least temporarily.
"Fine," she grumbles. "But just so we're clear, I don't like it, Briggs."
"Oh, I'm aware." I grin at her again, amused at the cute fucking glower on her face. "But you'll get over it when donation checks start rolling in."
"Says you," she sniffs, her chin in the air. "You aren't the one uprooting your life for who knows how long because a goalie decided to help support your nonprofit to make stalking you easier."
"This isn't stalking, sweetness," I say, laughing.
"Oh, yeah? Then what do you call it, Briggs?"
"Guaranteeing an outcome I can live with."
She tilts her head, her expression inquisitive. "And what outcome are you trying to guarantee?"
"You and me, beautiful," I murmur. "You and me."
"Where are you staying?" Tia asks, her face tilted up toward me as we linger on the icy sidewalk outside of the restaurant after dinner. The chill in the air is biting, but I'm not ready to leave yet. I'd rather stay right here, freezing my ass off.
"Why?" I tease, smirking at her. "Is this your way of asking if I want to stay with you?"
"What? No!" she cries immediately, only to bite her bottom lip. "I have a guest room."
Fuck.
I tug her up against my body, brushing my lips against her ear. "You trust me to behave myself, beautiful?"
