Page 74 of Not Just a Trick Play

Before I can add more, she says, “It’s a little thank you. For last night. For looking after me.” She fidgets, almost unable to meet my gaze.

“It was no problem at all. Drunk Amelia’s a riot.” I approach, sneak my hand under her hair and draw her to me slowly,and touch my lips to hers. It’s not a sexual kiss. It’s tender. Domestic. And I fucking love it.Who are you, and what did you do with Jake Cunningham?

I clear my throat and step back. I nod toward the meticulously set table. “And so this is my just reward?” I waggle my brows.

“Your just reward that’s going in the rubbish bin if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face,” she warns.

Chuckling, I tap her nose. “Ah-ah-ah, so feisty for someone expressing gratitude.”

She shakes her head and gives me a long-suffering sigh I know she doesn’t mean. “Go have a seat while I finish up.”

“Can I help?”

“I’ve got it.”

I settle into one of the chairs, watching as Amelia slips on an apron and dons giant mitts, yet somehow still looks sexy as hell. She opens the oven, and I groan quietly as her dress stretches over her ass when she bends low to retrieve the dish inside.

Once it’s safely on the table, she loses the protective gear. As she pulls the apron over her head, the neckline of her dress shifts, exposing a glimpse of lace—a black bra strap peeking out just enough to make my mouth go dry. I’m guessing this thank you production ends in the bedroom. Memories of her whispered promises from last night flood back—bondage, anal, choking. And, yep—my dick’s already paying attention.

I will it down as she takes the seat opposite me. “What is this?”

“Yorkshire Pudding.”

“Pudding?” It doesn’t look like any sort of dessert I’ve ever seen. Besides, she’s all the dessert I want.

I unfold one of the napkins, almost feeling guilty as I destroy the little masterpiece and place it on my lap. She pours me a glass of wine but just fills hers with water.

“No booze for you?”

“After last night, I’m swearing liquor off forever.” She glares at me. “You realize I committed to doing those tours?”

“You realize I was there to witness it?”

She crosses her arms, lips pursed, though there’s no real heat in her gaze.

“I think it’s a great idea.” I smirk. “After all, it was mine.”

She shakes her head, a reluctant smile breaking through. “Of course, you’re taking all the credit. Should have known.”

“Sweets, you hate football. You love music. Ergo, you should stop working in football and start working in music. You were on fire last night when you were talking about the tour. I’ve never seen you so excited. Except for when I did that thing with my teeth. But we’ll save that for later.”

She bites her lip, then hands me her phone, the Notes app open. “You did this all today?” There are at least four routes planned, complete with stops and landmarks.

“I could offer the tours for free, make some tip money…or maybe try something a little different. What if I handed out wireless headphones and guided people through the city with music? Play songs in the places they became history, mix in some old interviews, and have guests dance their way between locations, and, and…do you think it’s too much?”

“It’s perfect.”

And she is. Perfect. Perfect for me. I like who I am when I’m with her. I love the soft little smile she gives when she thinks no one’s looking. I love watching her come alive, how she opens up, her curiosity bright and contagious. And someone willing to subject themselves toSurvivorfor me? Gold.

“Now, what can I do to help? Publicity? Can totally put this on my socials? Because, spoiler alert, I’m your biggest fan.”

“I haven’t had anyone cheer me on before. So you, this…it’s new. And I can’t explain how much it means.” Here, shepauses, as if gathering her strength, then looks me in the eye. “We agreed this would be casual. Simple. But this feels like more than that…possibly?” Hope and hesitation blend in her voice.

“Sweets. This stopped being casual eons ago. At least for me.” The words feel like a huge exhale, my heart pounding harder now that they’re out there.

But as I wait for her response, my hands go clammy. Fuck. I open my mouth, about to take it back, when she says, “You mean that?” There’s such hope in her expression.

I grab her hand. “I do.” My eyes lock with hers. It’s all I can manage, but it carries so much more weight than three small letters should. They’re not enough, but will have to do for now.

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