Page 82 of Hard to Hold

She laughs. “That sounds ridiculous. You know that, right?”

“It might, but it also hits you because it rings true.”

“Rush.”

“It’s the same for me. I love playing football. It’s my passion, my life. The best part about it? I’m part of a team. I can blend in. I can support them. But I also love being selfish sometimes. Taking the ball down the field and doing it for myself. Hogging all the glory and owning it rightfully. There’s no better feeling than that moment when the ball hits the back corner of the net and the crowd goes bloody wild.”

“You never blend in on the field, Rush. You stand out every time you touch the ball.”

“Just like you do.”

“What?” she asks with disbelief. “You’re crazy.” But when she looks up at me with tears filling her eyes, I can tell what I’ve said means something to her.

“It’s okay to want the crowd to go wild. It’s okay to break away every once in a while, and be selfish. There’s no shame in it. Your work at KSM is yours, but not. Make it yours. Find what you need when you need it to make the crowd go wild. Until you do, darling, you’ll never be happy.”

She looks up at me and for the first time since this conversation, her smile rings true. “Who knew Rush McKenzie was a secret philosopher?”

“Hardly.”

She leans up and presses a kiss against my lips and tugs on parts of me that typically lie dormant. “You’ve given me more than you think, Professor McKenzie. I used to be in the spotlight, on the stage. Taking the limelight. I know the allure. Not sure I want that anymore.” That last bit is but a whisper. “Where was I? Oh, I know.” She giggles. God, she’s fucking cute. “You’ve given me several orgasms, copious amounts of wine . . . and an escape. And now kind words that I needed to hear.”

“And I’ve given you the sunset.”

“Yes. You have,” she says and runs her fingers up and down my stomach absently.

And we stay like this until the sun dips and the colors stop dancing across the sky to make way for the stars.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

LENNOX

THE COOL MORNING AIR BLOWS in off the ocean. It’s that grayish time of the morning where the sea and the sky look like they’re one color, and there is no way to tell where one ends and the other begins.

I’m sitting up in an amazing expanse of bed with the comforter pooled around my waist in this luxurious beach house that Rush has rented, and I’m not sure why I feel so unsettled. I should be asleep, I should be snuggled up beside him, and when I turn to look at him over my shoulder and study him, I know exactly why I feel unsettled.

It’s him.

It’s Rush.

The sight of him makes my pulse quicken and stomach flutter. That happened when we first met, but this is different. That’s supposed to fade—hell, it typically dissipates after the first date for me most times—but with him, it just keeps growing more intense.

Have I slept in the same bed with men before? Of course, I have. Have I wanted to? Not really. I don’t like cuddling or the small talk. I’m not a fan of feeling forced to be something I’m not—the grateful girl because the guy picked her.

That’s bullshit.

They should be the grateful ones . . . and yet when I look at Rush, I feel grateful. I feel . . . things.

Things I don’t know how to process, nor do I really want to, because they’re not something that can be on my radar.

And yet when I look back out at the ocean, I can’t help but feel . . . relaxed. Appreciated. Wanted. Heard. It’s the oddest combination of things and yet what I needed all the same.

“Hey.” Rush’s sleep-drugged voice fills the room the same time he rests his hand on my lower back.

“Good morning,” I murmur as I turn to look at him over my shoulder. There are pillow creases on his face and his scruff is darker than normal, but it’s his eyes—the crinkles at their corners, the clarity in them for just waking up—that hold me rapt. “Sleep good?”

“The best.”

“What’re you doing? It’s early.”