I did it. Me. The girl who wasn't supposed to belong in sports.
And tomorrow, my mother will be sitting in that arena watching it happen.
My phone is sitting face-up on the counter, and I catch myself checking it for the fourth time in ten minutes. No new texts. No flight confirmation. Just my own reflection in the black screen.
Because yes… she's coming.
An invitation I only managed to extend after three espresso martinis at Breakers while Darcy chantedsend it, send it, sendit.Rose physically held my hand steady over the phone, but the worst part is… I couldn't even call.
I texted my own mother. Like a coward. A tipsy, brave, terrified coward.
At least she replied, even if it was only with four words:Fine. Book me flights.
I'm mid-attempt at wing number two when my hotel room door lock beeps, and swings open.
"Honey, I'm home."
"You know," I call without turning around, "most people knock."
"Most people didn't pay for the keycard upgrade." Declan fills the bathroom doorway, and I nearly stab myself in the eye with the liner.
Because he's in asuit.A devilish charcoal number with an collar open and no tie. It's like hewantsme thinking about undoing him tonight. The sleeves strain around arms that have ruined me for every other man on this planet, thick and roped with muscle. His dark hair's been pushed back with a comb, his stubble freshly trimmed, and God, my mouth actually waters. I remember exactly what that scratchy stubble feels like scraping between my thighs.
This is aproblem.A very hard, very tall problem currently filling my hotel doorway.
"Wow," I manage. "You look..."
"I know." He smirks and tugs at his suit jacket. Then his eyes do the long drag down my dress, over my hips, all the way to my bare feet. The smirk drops into something hungrier. "Fuck.Josie."
"Good fuck or bad fuck?"
"The kind of fuck where I'm reconsidering our whole schedule tonight."
He steps into the bathroom, and without hesitation his hands are on my ass, pulling me against him as his mouth finds the curve of my neck. He nuzzles against my skin, and every professional thought in my head packs a bag and leaves.
"Declan." It comes out embarrassingly breathy and his warm hand squeezes my ass. "Declan, I just did my makeup."
"I'm nowhere near your makeup." His teeth graze my shoulder, and I watch us in the mirror. I'm dressed in gold, and he's currently wrapped around me like a very expensive coat.God, we look good. His fingers find the zipper at my spine and he starts easing it down. "This, however—"
"Ijustzipped that."
"And now I'm unzipping it. It's called foreplay."
"That's called—" his palm slides inside the open back of my dress, warm and huge against my bare skin, and my knees genuinely wobble, "—sabotage."
"Come on. We've got ten minutes," he murmurs against my ear. "You planned an entire party for the whole town but you can't spare ten minutes for your captain?"
"Ten minutes?" I twist in his arms, pressing both hands flat against his chest. "Please.You've never once been a ten-minute man, Declan Morrison. You're a forty-five minutes and an encore in the shower man, and I say that with enormous gratitude."
"Yeah, but when you look like this…" His throat works as heat burns beneath his gaze. "I could be efficient."
"You cannot. And anyway, I still need to decide on which speech I'm going to use."
Declan groans like a wounded animal, and drops his forehead to my shoulder. "Fine. But just so you know, after this party is finished, I'm giving you more than one encore tonight."
"Hasn't Coach given the team a curfew tonight?"
"Perhaps. But when he sees you looking like this at the party, I'm sure he'll understand."
