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She tightens her grip around my waist. “Figuring things out.”
“But for how long, Jo? There’s so much in our way, so much at stake. The respect of my team and my staff and the media, your position and your fight for more women in this field, our families…” I hang my head a little. “How do we do this?”
She listens intently as I ramble. “We keep finding these secret moments until we figure it out.”
“We keep saying that, but I want to take you to the charity ball instead of Sam. At some point, I’m going to want to let the paparazzi see us. I’m going to want to be proud of who I’m with. I’m going to want the world to know how I feel about you. And I don’t get to.”
She looks a little caught off guard, but then she poses a question that catches me off guard. “What would you tell the paparazzi if you could?”
I draw in a sharp breath at her question.
“How do you feel about me?” she presses.
Her eyes search mine, and I spot the gold flecks I fell in love with the day I met her.
I was fourteen. She was twelve. Her dad had been traded from Miami to New York, and they moved into the house next door. I was one of the only kids around who knew what it was like to have a father in the league, and we were around the same age. An immediate friendship ignited between us, some sublime and intense connection neither of us really understood.
It took me two years to work up the courage to kiss her. Another year to work up the courage to have sex with her.
And then my father ripped it all away when he made a confession to me that caused me to break her heart as much as it broke my own.
Those feelings never died. They never dimmed. They never went anywhere except buried deep down, and the moment I saw her in the present time, they resurfaced. No amount of pushing them away could ever really get rid of something this strong.
Those gold flecks are centered on my eyes, and maybe I should feel nervous as she searches to find the answer there, but I don’t.
The answer is as natural as breathing.
“I love you.”
The hazel eyes and the gold flecks look surprised as her brows arch, and I lean down and rest my forehead to hers. “I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen, and I feel like I’ve been forced to spend my entire life fighting it. I’m so goddamn tired of fighting, Jolene.”
“Then let’s stop fighting,” she murmurs.
I pull back, not sure exactly what she means by that. Stop fighting as in—take this public? Or stop fighting as in—we end it here?
“I love you, too. And I’m a big believer that love is enough, Lincoln Nash.” She moves one of her arms so she can rest her palm over my heart, and it’s beating like crazy after the words she just said to me. My chest is warm, and the feeling radiates out through my entire body like I’m fucking seventeen again. “We will figure this out. We just need some time.”
I close my eyes as I draw in a deep breath, breathing in her orange blossoms, and then I drop my lips to her as I hope with everything inside me that we have enough time to prove her words true.
CHAPTER 7: LINCOLN
We spend the morning together mostly naked. She leaves just before lunch to see her son, and then she has a whole host of appointments to get ready for tonight’s event—something I don’t have to worry about since I just need to slide into my tux and pick up my date.
My date.
Sam’s great and all, but it’s really sort of a sorry substitute when I want the real thing.
Still, I appreciate what Sam is doing for us more than I can express. Someday, she’ll meet some dude and want to start a life with him, though, and where will that leave us?
Maybe it’ll be a distraction to the team, and the media will focus more on my personal life with her than on my coaching skillset…or maybe it’ll all blow over because the next big scandal happens elsewhere in the league.
I don’t know what the right answer is, but I do know that letting her go without me was hard this morning, and it keeps getting harder and harder each time I have to do it.
I didn’t tell her my parents were invited to tonight’s event. As soon as Jack heard that they’d moved to town, he added them to the guest list as my guests of honor.
But the truth is, I don’t really want them there. I’ve worked hard to build my own name despite the scores of football fans who believe I got every single break I did because my last name is Nash.
Last names might open doors, but it’s hard work along with a proven track record that reaps the real rewards.
