Page 128 of Lucky Shot

How about all of the above?

“At least it’s better than a grass pitch, huh? Did I redeem myself, Lucky Shot?”

I run my fingers through his hair and love the sound he emits deep in his throat. “Yes. Very much so.”

“Good. Can’t have you thinking otherwise.”

I chuckle as he nuzzles his face deeper into my neck. “You know . . . if I’m well enough to do this, then I’m definitely well enough to go back to the office.”

His sigh fills the room followed by a laugh. “You really are something, you know that?” He rolls to the side of me and then props himself up on his elbow so his hand can run down the side of my face. He looks stunning like this. The moonlight through the window. His hair mussed up from my hands. The rough stubble on his cheek after a long day.

And I try to catch the trip of my heart in the moment but fear I might not have reacted fast enough.

“Not yet. A few more days.” He brushes his lips over mine. “Just to help erase the image I still have of you lying on your floor.”

A part of me thinks he’s playing me. Another part of me knows how hard it is to get over the trauma of something you’ve experienced.

And the selfish part of me doesn’t want whatever this feeling is right now to end.

“Okay. A few more days.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

Hardy

“Rush says things are going good. He thinks?”

“What do you mean, he thinks?” I ask Lennox as I take a sip of coffee and wince. Most days it’s still tea for me, but this schedule is running me ragged.

Between my own personal conditioning mornings, days at the academy with the kids, and the upgrades we’re rushing to do before Whitney gets back, then my own practice, and the best part of my day—the nights with Whitney—it’s exhausting.

The past few nights have been spent watching the telly and giving her a proper introduction to British satire, dinners where we sit across the island from each other talking about football tactics or something one of the kids did at practice that day, but every night ends with us in bed together. Talking. Kissing. Fucking. Falling asleep as we laugh.

It’s one of the weirdest, most stressful times in my life, but it’s also the best by so many measures.

“He just said you’ve been keeping your head down, practicing hard, and skipping your typical nights out with the guys. As your agent, I applaud this wholeheartedly. As your friend, I wonder why this is happening and if you’re okay.”

“Definitely okay,” I murmur and hiss as the coffee scalds my tongue. I lift a hand and wave to Martin as he gets out of his car. “Feeling good. Have the game this weekend and our chances are good. Worked through a new formation that I’m finally feeling confident with.” I lean back against my car and chuckle. Fuck it. Why not? “And okay, you were right.”

“I was right? About?” she asks as I stay silent. “Oh. OH. Okay. I love being right.” Her laugh rings out and has me shaking my head.

“What were you right about?” Rush’s voice booms through the phone.

I groan. Fuck. I just opened that door for him, didn’t I?

“It’s okay.” Lennox laughs. “Sorry. I should have warned you that you were on speaker, but you can talk. He already figured it all out.”

“Figured what out?” I ask.

“That you and hot soccer coach are a thing,” she teases.

“How? I just told you that you were right. I haven’t said shit to the guys or anyone.”

“Let me count the ways,” she says drolly. “You insisted to Ari that she go to the premiere in New York. You wrangled your teammates into helping at her academy. Apparently, you spent numerous days at the hospital with her. For her. I don’t know because you’ve kept quiet about it and let’s face it, Hardy, you never keep quiet about anything . . . so two plus two sometimes actually does equal four.”

“And this equals four,” Rush chimes in.

“Awesome,” I mutter.