Page 91 of Draft Pick
She tilts her head. “It’s not Troy’s job to feed me, Crew.”
“Maybe not, but he’ll do it anyway. I sign his checks,” I gloat. “And don’t dodge my first comment.”
“No more dates. I kind of like it when you let your possessive side show.”
I nod. “Yeah, well, there’s more where that came from.” I smack her butt and search the kitchen island for my phone. “Why don’t you go take a hot bath, and I’ll order us a breakfast of actual substance?”
“Deal.” Juniper smiles up at me before making her way to the stairs. “And Crew?”
I look up from my phone. “Yeah, baby?”
“Thank you for trying.”
Little does she know, I’ll never stop. That’s what we do for the people we love…we show up. In the big ways and the small ways.
28
JUNIPER
“Are you sure this is legal?”
Crew takes my hand, and his warm chuckle does nothing to calm my nerves. “Positive.”
“But what if we get trapped and can’t get out?”
“Even better,” he declares. “More alone time. Sounds like the perfect way to get it.”
“It’s so dark. I can’t see.”
“Just trust me, okay?” The heat of his breath coats my neck, telling me he’s closer than I thought.
“Oh, I trust you, Suburban Daddy. You and all your fancy surprises. Doesn’t mean I’m not terrified right now. The dark freaks me out.”
“Only for my girl.”Me. He means me.“I’ve got you.”
It’s after hours at Makers Park, the entire stadium pitch black aside from the light shining through the clubhouse doors. It’s wild how a vibe can change in a matter of hours, celebrating the Strikers’ home game just earlier tonight.
The fans were crazy tonight, in the best way possible.
And don’t even get me started on Crew. He was extraordinary.
“Have I told you yet how beautiful you are?” he tells me confidently, and I can just barely make out a small section of the field up ahead. Except, it’s not just green turf I’m looking at.
It’s more. So much more.
“Only every day. And it’ll never get old.” I smile just as we reach our destination. Surprising me, Crew steps back and walks a few feet away before calling out into the oblivion, “Sergio, cue the lights.”
And oh my word. My jaw falls to the floor, not literally, but it feels like it. All of Makers Park is covered in darkness aside from the field lights, making us feel secluded and like we have our own slice of solitude amidst such a giant field.
“Crew,” I murmur, sideswept by waves of emotions. But they don’t stop there. Below us might just be the most precious and kind thing anyone has ever done for me. “Is this all for me?” I ask, disbelief making my heart contract erratically in the best way possible.
“Every part of it.”
A large fringed blanket lies across the manicured turf, covered in an assortment of what seem to be all my favorite things: peach cobbler tins from Boone, an old record player with Fleetwood Mac playing, and canned lager beer in the cutest little foam koozies.
There’s no possible way a love like this can be real.
Because I’m sure of it. I love him. And my love for Crew Briggs surpasses all past loves, and it would take an army of haters to change that.
