Page 49 of Game Day

I reach a hand back, brushing a pair of shorts that are too tight. A giggle rises up before I can stop it.

He spins me, the hard ledge of the window pressing against my shoulders. “Give me back my clothes and maybe I’ll let you off easy.”

“Brooke has them.”

“Which means…”

“You’re stuck in those clothes,” I say at the same time he says, “We’re alone in this cabin.”

The thrill of being chased, of chasing, gives way to a different desire.

The weight of the past few days has piled up. Seeing him like this, playful and competitive, is sexy as hell.

“What’d you get up to tonight?” he murmurs.

"Pole dancing."

He angles his head. “Definitely going to need a repeat performance of that.”

Brooke forgot to tell me to bring a change of clothes to the event, so I changed into my underwear "gift" from her to freshen up. Now the thin fabric, if you can call it that, rubs my breasts and between my thighs.

“What about you?” I ask, my voice lower than usual.

"We ran into another bachelorette. They were fans of ours."

I pull back an inch. "Kodashians."

"You’re pretty when you’re jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous? Your dick’s in my hand.” When I drop my gaze, I appreciate again what he's wearing. A laugh slips out.

The sound of rain outside intensifies, drowning out everything except the odd shriek.

We’re not really alone in this place.

Technically we’re still on our bachelor and bachelorette parties.

All of which seems way less important than the way Clay’s looking at me.

“I missed you,” I blurt. “I know you’re busy with everything, but I was hoping we’d get to spend this time together.”

Clay bends his face to mine. “Me too. I’ve been working on something…”

“It’s okay. The season is about to start?—”

“I’ve been trying to buy us a house. A place for us to build a life together. I wanted it done before we got married, because it was supposed to be a wedding present for you.” He exhales hard.

I shift back an inch to take him in. “A house,” I echo.

Clay nods. “One that’s got everything you could wish for, where you feel like you’re at home whether you’ve had the best day or a terrible one. Being with you is a damned dream come true. I want all your dreams to come true too.”

My heart skips.

Of the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t it.

“I’ve been trying to find the right place. Looked at dozens, but nothing was good enough,” he goes on, and the stubborn edge of his voice makes my lips twitch. “Nothing was close enough to your family, or had the perfect room for you to do your paintings, or had a room with a view where we could watch the sun hovering over the mountains and think about the first time I took you to Red Rocks.”

He’s always accepted the realities of life on the road, the trade-offs of being a basketball star. Hearing that he’s been committed to putting down roots here with me, realizing how much effort he put into this makes me swoon.

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