Page 32 of Shes my 1 Try

“Thank you,” she murmurs sleepily, and I rearrange our bodies—her back to my front, my arms wrapped around her—discarding the condom.

“For what?” I mutter against her still heated skin.

“For being you.”

Before I can ask her what she means, her body relaxes in mine and her eyes drift closed. Whatever she meant, I pray being me is enough because I’m so far gone on her. I’m the ninety-metre sprint down the field. The win against all odds. The intercept try. The forward pass that no one catches until it’s too late. She’s my grand-final win and I don’t think I want to do any of it without her. No, I fucking know I don’t.

I love Wiley Nolan! I hope she feels the same way because I’m not letting her go!

The rest of the flight is spent laughing and talking. Wiley explaining how she and Ines set this whole thing up with the help of Simon, Ines’s fiancé and Ursula, the hostess. I can’t believe the lengths she went to, but I’m so fucking grateful.

Her confession at guesstimating my cock size and buying a dildo to match, just so she could take me. Fuck! I made her promise to show me when we get home. I can’t wait to see her fuck her own pussy.

A cherry on top is Tyley’s face when we disembark the plane and he sees that I’ve been in first-class.

Wiley insists I stay with her at the Bellagio in a suite and I doubt there’s a person in the world who could dissuade me from it. The room is flashy and all kinds of luxury, but all I can think about is getting my hands on Wiley. As soon as we’re through the door, we’re a tangled mess of limbs and clothes flying through the air.

I know I’m here for my work, but the sooner I can get through my obligations, the more time I get to spend with Wiley. And it’s not just for sex—though it’s mind-blowingly fantastic. Just being in her presence is intoxicating. I’m so addicted to her I can’t breathe sometimes.

Every appearance I’m booked to go to, Wiley stands in the wings, this look of contentment on her face. My heart swells with more fucking love than I thought possible for one human being. Even when women want photos and they grope and touch me, all she does is shake her head, mouthing the words—you belong to me.

Not even Tyler-fucking-Wannek can kill my buzz, but as we sit in the suite to watch the kick-off of the new season with the players and wives of some of the top NFL teams, I know this time is coming to an end. It doesn’t stop me from beaming as Wiley argues with a six-foot plus monster about how superior the players of rugby league are. She even challenges him to take a tackle without all his protective gear. He politely declines with a laugh.

“She’s a firecracker, this one,” he jokes, hooking his thumb in her direction.

“She’s definitely a wild one,” I concur, watching her mingle and laugh with people as they experience the beauty and brutality of rugby league.

The game is over before I feel like I can blink and as Wiley and I stroll arm in arm down crowded Fremont Street, people zip-lining over our heads. We marvel at the beautiful light show, Wiley nestling in closer to me, this feeling of uncertainty wrapping around me.

“I feel like walking back to the hotel,” she says quietly as we exit the busy street.

“That’s a long walk, baby.” I get where it’s coming from because I’m not in any hurry for our time here to end. I don’t want reality crashing in on us.

“You’re probably right,” she sighs, her lips thinning out as I hail a cab.

Climbing in, Wiley shuffles in beside me and my arm curls around her instantly. As we crawl through the Las Vegas traffic, bright neon and flashing signs on every street bombard my mind, and I run a hand across my brow, massaging my temples.

“Are you okay, Asher? You’ve been a little…withdrawn today,” she asks softly, keeping her head turned to the opposite window.

How the fuck do I tell the most perfect woman in the world that I’ve only known for a few months—barely—that I love her? Like deeply, madly love her, without sounding like a damn fool.

“It’s nothing,” I lie, pulling her a little closer.

“Asher, if this is too much like what we’ve been doing, you have to tell me. If I’m too much, or if you’re starting to regret?—”

“No! Just stop right there. Don’t think that—ever,” I growl, forcing her to face me and gripping her chin possessively. “This. Us. I…it’s…”

“It’s what, Asher? Tell me, please.” Tears glisten in her gorgeous eyes and I fucking hate that I put them there. When something outside the window catches my eye, the craziest and most perfect idea hits me.

“Stop the cab.” The driver looks at me, confused in his mirror. “You heard me. Stop the cab.”

Paying the fare, I grab Wiley’s hand and drag her down the street. “What the hell is going on, Asher?”

I don’t answer and keep going, determined to get this out. Even if it’s the hill I die on, at least I’ll know.

“Asher! I am not going one step further until you tell me what the fuck is going on?!” Coming to a halt, she slams into me, an annoyed huff pushing from her mouth.

“We’re a forward pass,” I blurt, and she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

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