Page 142 of Offside Rules

"I don’t know what happens with my shoulder," I say. "I don’t know if Seattle will sign me again. I wish I had something better to give you than that."

"You don’t have to—"

"I love you, Baylor."

She goes still.

There. Finally, I said it.

I should’ve said it in my kitchen. In bed last night. This morning when she stood beside the coffee maker wearing my shirt and pretending she was only tired.

I’m saying it now.

"I need to try," I tell her. "And I need you to know why."

She steps into me so quickly that I barely have time to put my good hand at her waist.

Then she’s holding the front of my jersey and kissing me.

I bend toward her, pulling her closer. Her fingers tighten in the fabric, and for the first time all fucking day, I stop thinking about the clock.

When she draws back, she keeps her forehead against mine.

"Wolf, I love–"

"What the fuck?"

Baylor freezes. We both turn to find Beau is standing several feet down the corridor, his helmet in one hand.

He looks at her hands on my jersey.

Then at mine on her waist.

"Get your fucking hands off her."

Baylor turns before I can answer.

"Beau."

I let my hand fall, but I stay beside her.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks her.

"We need to talk."

"No shit, we need to talk. You told me he wasn’t harassing you."

"Don’t speak to her like that," I say.

"Mind your own business Ziegler, you’re next."

Baylor steps between us. "Stop it! Both of you! We’re not doing it like this."

He laughs once, without any humor.

"How long?"

She draws a breath.