Page 93 of The Fake Out

“She was.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have the ‘it’ factor to be a fan or coach’s favorite. Those are your once-in-a-lifetime stars. But I’m here, playing on a professional team. I’m lucky to be on the list at all. I don’t need to top it. I’m not anyone’s first choice. But I’ll say it again. I’m lucky to just be on the list.”

“After all that, how can you be this way?”

He cocked his head to the side, his lips turning down in a confused frown.

“Happy. Grateful.” I gave in to the instinct to glare. Why the hell hadn’t anyone ever fought for him? He clearly wasn’t going to do it. “Even when all you get is scraps.”

His shoulders sank. “I don’t know how else to be.”

And that’s what made him so incredible.

“That’s good, because I never want you to change.” I swallowed back the emotion rising up inside me. Damn if I didn’t want to cry for this man. But I wouldn’t ruin the moment. Because when I thought back to this time with him, I wanted to remember the perfection and not tears.

I walked out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist, and my heart tripped over itself. Gi stood across the room, dressed in a black halter dress. Her hair was pinned up so it cascaded down her back in big, loose curls. The smooth skin of her bare shoulders and back contrasted with the black of the dress that tucked in at her waist and flared over her hips, draping perfectly over my favorite ass on the planet. And damn, her legs looked good in those sky-high heels.

The only time they looked better was when they were slung over my shoulders or wrapped around my waist.

I stalked toward her, eating up the space between us until I cupped one shoulder, relishing the sensation of her silky skin against my callused palm. Dipping in close, I pressed my lips to her neck.

In response, she tilted her head, giving me better access.

“You’re stunning,” I whispered against her skin. “Every guy in the place will have their sights set on you.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She snorted delicately.

My chest pinched at the way she brushed off the compliment. She didn’t get it. She didn’t see what I saw when I looked at her.

Beautiful, talented, determined, caring, and fierce. A complete package of a woman.

My heart clenched, because she was so close to slipping away.

Tomorrow was the deadline. She’d have to give the stupid douche firm an answer about the job in New York. And although she hadn’t come out and told me she wasn’t taking it—not that I’d asked; the last thing I wanted to do was push—she hadn’t said she wasn’t either.

After tonight, she’d have money from the auction as well. That would probably come into play when she had to make that final decision. Wren had texted yesterday to tell me she’d received early interest in Gi’s work. The Puff painting had been so popular that they’d raised the starting bid on it.

“Are you planning on wearing a towel?” She smirked, skimming a hand over my abs.

I would absolutely not wear a towel to the big night she had no idea was her big night. But teasing her was in my wheelhouse, so I shrugged. “It’s more comfortable.”

Lips pursed, she squinted at me. “People will be there.”

“And?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, causing her breasts to lift into the deep V of her dress. I lifted a finger to trace the swell, but she batted my hand away.

“There’s no way you’d let me wear just a towel anywhere.”

My smile bloomed, along with a warmth in my chest. “Is this your way of saying you’re feeling possessive of me?”

She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, but before she could retort, the doorbell chimed. I turned, ready to answer it, but she grabbed my arm.

“I’m dressed. I’ll get it,” she huffed, every word dripping with exasperation.

I chuckled as she sauntered out of the room, taking the time to drink her in from behind, but my laughter died when her voice echoed down the hall.

“Why are you here?”

---