Page 79 of The Longshot

“Shush,” I murmur with a shake of my hand. “You already saw me in this outfit earlier in the week. Don’t give me too much credit, now.”

Gary leans his forehead against mine. “Wear it every day for all I care, Chelsie. It’s so fucking hot?—”

“Ahem!” Ruby makes her not-so-graceful way down the staircase, her loud voice being enough to break us apart. “This is a PG zone, children. Save the dirty talk for when I go to sleep, will ya?”

I roll my eyes as Gary pulls Ruby in for a small hug. “I think what you meant to say is that it's so nice to see you again, Gary. Are you sick of me yet, Ruby?” he jokes.

“If you asked me that about five minutes ago, Gary, then the answer was yes.” Ruby’s always been notorious for having no filter.

Gary’s face turns red at her bluntness but quickly resolves as she continues. “I was mad at you for stealing my little sister away from me. But…” She nudges me softly with a wink. “She found a way to make up for it. Didn’t you, Chelsie?”

I smile, an action Gary can’t seem to help but join in on. “Yeah, that face of hers does make it pretty damn hard to stay mad at…” Gary’s gaze locks into mine, honing in on me like he never wants to let go—a part of me wishes he wouldn’t.

“Alright, alright.” Ruby pushes us both towards the door in disgust. “Enough of that soppy crap. Go. Leave. Have fun! You remember the rule, don’t you, Gary?”

“She doesn’t come home in tears, and I live to see another day,” he recites. “Yes, Ruby. I actually got it tattooed on my arse, so I don’t forget. Do you want to see it?” He mockingly pretends to drop his trousers.

Ruby mischievously warrants him the middle finger. “Piss off,” she jokes before closing the door. All the while, I’m left on the lawn in a fit of laughter.

“Do you wanna see?” Gary offers jokingly, guiding me towards his car and opening my door.

I can’t seem to stop laughing as he flashes me a cheeky grin. “I’d rather not.”

“Your loss.” He shrugs, closing my door in the process before making his way over to the driver's side and firmly planting a seat.

“So…” I eventually find it in me to slow my laughter, though the sentence ends there as Gary takes the liberty to buckle up my seat and plant a kiss onto my lips.

I hadn’t known I could feel butterflies this strongly.

“So,” he whispers against my bottom lip before pulling back.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying with all my might to refocus my attention back onto my original train of thought—shaking my head to help me do just that.

“That uh—restaurant you mentioned last week...” I manage to build up some traction, fanning myself. “It’s actually not too far away from here, so I was thinking, how about we go there first, and then, I’ll let you pick our driving destination after. Does that sound good?”

Gary smiles over at me from the driver's side.“Sounds perfect, love. But if you don’t mind, we just need to make a quick pit stop first.”

I cock a brow. “Oh? Where to?”

“My parents. It’s my little brother's birthday, and I promised him that I’d swing by to give him his present. Check it out. I’ve got it all wrapped up in the backseat.”

My eyes gravitate backward as I catch sight of a colorful gift bag filled with brightly coordinated tissue paper. “You wrapped this?” I ask in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Delaney did.” He brings his fingers to his lips in secret. “But my brother doesn’t need to know that. Have a look at what I got him,” he urges me. “Go on.”

Agreeable to his persistence I reach towards the bag and carefully remove the pieces of paper one by one.

“Oh my goodness.” I pull out a Crawfield jersey and assess it between my grasp. “It’s so nice, Gary. Your little brother is going to absolutely love it.”

“Turn it around,” Gary instructs, a look of mischief in his eyes as we pull up to a red light. “Have a look at what I got printed on the back.”

I do as he asks, turning it around. Only when I do, I quickly realize that this gift isn’t for his little brother at all. It’s for me.

“Sorry to lie to you. But I wanted to see your authentic reaction. Do you like it?” Gary probes as I assess the way he’s had “Windsor” along with his signature number—13, plastered along the back of the shirt.

“I hope it's not an overkill,” he rambles before I can even chime in. “It’s partly why I opted for your last name instead of mine, though I couldn’t bear the thought of you wearing anyone else’s number. If you don’t like it, I can get you another one, or we can?—”

“Gary!” I cut him off mid-rant, silencing him immediately. “I love it.” I tuck the jersey into my chest. “Really, I do.” I lean over the center console and smother his cheek with kisses. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

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