Page 117 of Kiss Me Tonight

I suck in air sharply, filling my lungs.

“Now breathe it out.”

Out it goes, my chest deflating with the exhalation.

“You good?”

I hear the clanging of The Monster’s metal gears. Hear the boys—Topher, too—below us hollering about something off in the distance. A yacht, I think. Seeking the strength from Dominic’s arm wrapped around me, I nod.

He pulls his hand away, dropping it to my thigh. “Check out your reward.”

We’re at the tippity-top of the Ferris wheel, some hundred feet off the ground. Maybe less. Maybe more. I can’t bring myself to swing my gaze down and take in all the tourists mingling around on the pier and looking like ant-people.

But the horizon, that I can see.

And it is . . .breathtaking.

Sailboats coast along the deep blue waters, their crisp, white sails flapping in the wind. Farther out, the yacht Topher was shouting about heads east toward Bar Harbor. It’s long and sleek and glistens under the setting sun. I swallow, hard, then glance west. The islands across from London appear like green jewels, enticing me to stare a little harder and make out the houses nestled between the trees.

I count them all: one, two, four . . . seven.

“Not so bad, is it?” Dominic drawls, the dratted jerk sounding all too satisfied with himself.

“It could be worse.”

“Yeah? How?”

I meet his dark gaze. “I didn’t pee my pants this time.”

Slowly, his mouth curves up in a delicious grin. “I’m sorry”—he puts one hand to his ear, leaning in—“I could have sworn you saidthistime.”

And so under a sky painted pink and purple and yellow, with my heart in my throat and my panties wet but for an entirely different reason than fear, I regale Dominic DaSilva, Super Bowl ring champion, sports news anchor, about the one time I rode The Monster and peed on myself. When I get to the part that includes the riders below me hollering about it starting to rain, I try to uphold whatever pride I have left: “I was only seven. It was a shock to us all.”

He loses it.

Head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, sexy laughter tumbling out of him.

Life has never been so good.

33

Celebrity Tea Presents:

Wildcat Logic: When Desperate Ex-NFL Players Become Amateur Photographers

Dear Reader, I’m sure this is not an article you ever anticipated reading. Between us, it’s not one I anticipated writing either, but here we are. (No, really, here we are).

As you may have guessed from the headline, retired NFL player Dominic DaSilva has traded in his football jersey for a cell phone camera app. Now, before you start thinking, “WOW! Harsh,” let me just say . . . don’t you find it a little odd that Sports 24/7 created an entire TV segment about high school football of all things, of which fifteen minutes of the half-hour episode were dedicated to Maine’s London High School? After all, it’s not every day that a sports network goes out of their way to highlight a small town in the middle of nowhere thatalsohappens to be the place where their former employee now works.

I’m spilling the T-E-A, sister.

Here. We. Go.

For the sake of getting right to it, I won’t mince words: I think DaSilva is so keen to be in the limelight, he’ll do anything to get his name and face in front of people. Let us look at the facts, shall we?

After retiring from the NFL, DaSilva promptly was hired by ESPN’s top competitor, Sports 24/7, in which he hosted his own show for roughly four years. I don’t watch sports—unless the athletes are swimmers and wearing speedos, of course—so I can’t say whether or not DaSilva was any good. For the purpose of playing nice, let’s say he did an ahhhmazing job and deserves a daytime Emmy. Moving on.

Hot or not, the man went from living in Los Angeles, where he had his pick of women, to going on ANOTHER TV show, all in the hope of keeping his name lit up in neon letters, as well as locked and loaded in everyone’s mouths. SincePut A Ring On Itbegan airing a little more than a month ago, Dominic DaSilva’s name has remained in the top five trending hashtags on Twitter. No easy feat, that. I tip my hat off to you, Mr. DaSilva; you sure know how to make the right moves, boo.

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