Page 112 of Game Misconduct
“None taken. Not my type.”
“I spent so many years buried in work, I never got a chance to be free. To explore. And now that I have the time, I have to second-guess everyone’s intentions.” She sighs. “Everyone wants a piece of billionaire Cecilia Ramos, and not the person I actually am.”
“You know, Coach Turner—”
She makes a face. “He’s even more married to his career than I am.”
“And that would make you Audrey’s stepmother.”
“Right. I could never.” She winks outrageously. “Besides, you know I like ’em younger.”
“They’d have to be, to keep up with you.”
She clinks her martini glass against mine. “You said it, not me.”
I stumble home a little past eleven to find Nick dozing on the couch. He looks so peaceful, my tipsy heart twinges. I don’t want to wake him up.
Gently, I shake his shoulder. He wakes with a startled grunt, his forehead springing forward and knocking against mine.
Fuck.
It stings like a bitch, and by the way he groans and clutches his head, it didn’t feel good for him, either.
“You okay?” I murmur, taking pains to keep my voice pitched low.
“I’m fine.” His eyes are squeezed shut, and after a few moments, he blinks them open. His face relaxes into a smile. “You’re back. I didn’t know if I’d see you again tonight.”
“I didn’t want to go back to my place. I hope that’s okay.”
“I love you,” he blurts.
My insides freeze, and I go as still as a statue. Did I hear that correctly?
“Shit. Fuck. I mean—”
“You love me?” I squeak.
His swallow sounds so loud, almost like a gunshot.
“I do. I love you. Bex Marie, I—”
“I love you too.” The words rush out of me. “I know it’s soon, that we haven’t been together very long, but I love you so fucking much. When you got hurt, I—”
The sheer terror I felt that day is impossible to forget.
Nick pulls me onto the sofa beside him. He maneuvers my legs over his lap, an arm behind my shoulders.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me,” he says. “With my head, with my career… I might be facing the end of life as I know it. But I don’t want to make plans for the future without talking to you. Without us being on the same page.”
“I’m quitting my job,” I blurt.
His eyes widen. “But you love your job.”
“I can’t stand up in the booth and wait for you or someone else to get hurt. Not again.” I card my fingers through his hair, and he leans into my touch. “I’m still going to work with the foundation, but it will be research rather than day-to-day oversight. If they’ll let me, I’ll still consult with the team, but I’m going to focus on making a more supportive helmet, and hopefully prevent injuries like yours from happening in the first place.”
His eyes flutter closed. “You’d do that?”
“It means after this season is over, I won’t be traveling with the team. I won’t have to be on the road forty games a season.”
