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His kiss is tender. His mouth tastes like us and Blair and everything I need.
“That’s why we lost,” he sighs over my lips, “and we know it.”
I can relive that moment a million times—the moment Beau’s pass slipped right through my grasp.
I can’t tell you what I was thinking, find the words for my journal, or explain it to Dr. Gary.
The truth is I wasn’t thinking.
I was feeling.
I was feeling everything I couldn’t have. Victory. Love. Happiness.
None of it was mine.
“For a split second,” Beau confesses, nestling his forehead to mine, “I wasn’t passing the ball. It was my fucking heart for you. When I’m in the pocket, I can always find you. No matter the pressure, I can sense you. I know you’re waiting for me. You’ll be there. But that day, that game, and that throw, I was scared. After our night together. After I got to hold you, I didn’t trust it anymore. I didn’t know what to do, so I just threw the ball, like my heart, hoping Fate or you would catch it, and when you didn’t, I felt it was a sign. It was our answer. We lost. That’s what made me so fucking mad. Not you. I never blamed you.”
“I blame myself,” I answer. “I should’ve caught it. But it’d been a rough year. My mom.” My throat burns. It strangles. “You. Amber and her bullshit. Maybe, deep down, I wanted to lose because I don’t know how we can ever win.”
He wedges his body even closer to mine, touching mine, and it’s like we’re searching. It’s like only together, will we find the answer.
And then he grins. Beau gives me that sexy-as-fuck grin that finds my heart every time. “So, you admit you tipped the ball.”
“Yeah,” I answer, “because you put too much gas on it.”
His next laughing kiss takes me, urging me back against the bed. We fall together, and it’s not about fucking; it’s about forgiveness.
Naked, we wrap around each other, my legs twisting with his, my arms holding him tight. Yes, it makes us hard, but this is healing.
“So this is our breakthrough?” I chuckle into Beau’s kiss. “Coach and Dr. Gary will be so proud.”
He smiles, but Beau’s always wise. Well, about most shit. “We still got a long way to go,” he says. “We gotta figure out how it won’t happen again. How to keep our heads straight when our hearts are like this.”
Our bare chests press together, and yes, I can feel his heart beating against mine, wanting what I want, too.
So, I blurt out a plan—a wish I’ve had for months, really—but what do I have to lose?
“I’ll move in with you,” I tell him. “That’s how our hearts will survive.” Fear lands in his eyes, so I explain, “My renovation is taking forever. The contractor says nine more months, but you know that means at least a year. And everyone knows you have a big ass house on our favorite golf course, twenty minutes from our facility, and it makes sense. Players room together all the time.”
“Rookies and third-string players,” he answers. “Not us.”
“Dude, no one will care. They know we’re best friends. They know your house is fucking huge and convenient and?—”
“It was an investment.”
“I’m sure it was, and they know, after my mom died, I bought a house in Buckhead as a fresh start. As an investment, too. I’ve been bitching about the price and remodel ever since. It can work.”
“Have you been thinking about this all along?”
“No.” My heart clenches. “I mean, yeah. Sorta. When Amber was in the picture? Hell no. I wanted to be alone. But with her gone, with me free and us like this?” I rub my leg against his. “It’s our chance.”
“So you move in, and then what?” He’s not convinced.
“Then, we’ll be together. We’ll have the best season. We’ll win the Super Bowl and the rings, and we’ll figure it out.”
“But… ” Beau can’t accept it. The solution is that simple. “But people will say shit.”
“No, they won’t,” I answer, and he raises a brow. “Okay, fine. Some will. Some guys will always talk smack. It doesn’t matter because once Blair is living with you, too, and?—”
