Page 61 of Game Day

I drop into the chair. "My turn."

His brows shoot up. "Really?"

"The first time we met, you said you owed me a tattoo. This one's on you."

Clay cocks his head. "I take that to mean you've decided what you want?"

I nod to the artist. "You've got the sketch I sent?"

Realization dawns on Clay's face."You set this up. You played me."

I wink. "You aren't the only one who’s been working on a secret project the last few months."

One of the reasons my commissions have taken a backseat is that I’ve been working on a single design I wanted to be perfect.

The tattoo Clay promised to get me.

I wanted it to represent us, and I went through dozens of sketches and paintings to get it exactly right.

We didn’t land in this tattoo parlor by chance. I did my research and found this incredible artist. She normally books out a year in advance, but when I told her our story, she agreed to make room.

“This might sting a little,” she warns as she prepares to work, cleaning the wrist I extend.

Clay holds my other hand.

The tattoo needle buzzes across my skin.

“Does it hurt?”

My lips twitch. “You’ve had a hundred tattoos, and you’re worried about me getting one. You think I’m that fragile?”

“No way.” He shakes his head. “Just hate to see you in pain.”

It’s worth every second when I look down my arm to see the two tiny ranunculus flowers, one purple and one pink, their stems twined together.

After we’re finished at the tattoo shop, wewalk across the bridge hand in hand. There’s street music playing somewhere in the distance, and I swear this is the most romantic place on earth.

“Two truths and a lie,” I blurt. “I’ll start. I have a life beyond anything I dreamed. I’ve never been so happy. And… I’m married to the best basketball player in the world.”

“Those all sound true.”

I flip my palms, grinning.“I guess they are.”

His eyes dance across my face.

“We’re really bad at this game,” I whisper as his lips claim mine.

This entire week feels surreal. After the most beautiful wedding ceremony celebrating with the people we love most, we flew first class to Paris to celebrate the occasion in a whole new way.

Clay’s parents sent us a generous gift. He took me shopping, we went to galleries, and we ate delicious food.

This morning, my hot-as-hell husband woke me up with his tongue between my thighs.

Life is good.

A cell phone vibrates.

“Told them to leave me alone,” he says, going to switch it off.

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