Page 46 of Pucking Dirty

No word yet from Coach Lariat on his daughter's statement.

"What did she do?" I mutter, my heart in my throat. Jesus Christ. She just… I drop Jordan's phone, jerking to my feet. "I've gotta go."

"Where?" Logan asks, his brows furrowed.

I don't answer, already striding toward the front door.

Archer catches up to me halfway across the restaurant. "We have a game tomorrow, brother," he reminds me, following me out the door.

"I know. Fuck." I shove a hand through my hair, my mind racing. "I need to get to her. I need…"

"Go back to the hotel. I'll call Alice and figure out how to get her on a plane to you."

My fucking knees threaten to buckle. I grip his shoulder, squeezing. "Thank you."

"Go." He jerks his head, grinning at me.

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I spin on my heel, jogging down the sidewalk toward the hotel. She just told the entire world that we're together. No. She told the entire world that she's in love with me.

Jesus Christ.

For a girl convinced she'll ruin my career, she really does have brass balls.

I don't know if Lariat heard me today. At this point, I don't really care if he believes I'm the best choice for her or not. The only thing that matters to me—the only thing that's really mattered in all of this—is what she wants, what she needs, and what's best for her. For weeks, I told myself that letting her do this her way in her time was the best thing for her. I thought if I pushed just enough, teased her with the thought of us gettingcaught often enough, eventually she'd realize that she can't hide us or hide from us forever.

I went about that shit all wrong. What she needed was for me to tell Lariat the shit I told him today. He has failed her. He did make shit harder on her than it had to be. And she'll never have a chance to be the woman he raised if he can't back the fuck off and let her.

The man adores his daughter. There's no disputing that. But you can't smother the things you love, especially not when those things are women like Emilia. She needs to be every wild piece of herself. At some point, he has to cut the fucking cord and let her.

I've got her from here. I will always have her. Whether he sends me to Pennsylvania or trades me off the team or makes my life a living hell, it won't change the facts. And the facts are real fucking simple.

His daughter is mine. Every wild, beautiful piece of her belongs to me now.

And I intend to be a motherfucking beast when it comes to loving her.

I burst into the hotel lobby like the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I turn for the stairs, racing up to my room on the third floor. I need to get her on the phone. I need to hear her voice. Hell, I need to see that beautiful face. I've got shit to say—important shit.

My lungs burn with exertion by the time I make it to my floor, but I don't even slow as I charge toward my room, determined to get to her one fucking way or another to say what I should have said this morning. Hell, what I should have said day ago.

As much as she's mine, I'm hers too. Heart and fucking soul.

I stumble to a stop a few doors down from my room, staring in shock at the gorgeous little goddess curled up in front of my door with her head on her knees, staring at the carpet.

"Emilia?"

"Nash!" She leaps to her feet, her gold eyes full of anxiety as she spins to face me. She's been crying. Probably all fucking day judging by the shadows around her eyes.

I stride toward her, pulled like a magnet. "What are you doing here?"

"I…" She breaks off, glancing around. "Can we talk in your room?"

I shove the keycard in the door, holding it open for her to go in ahead of me. She looks around, her brows furrowed.

"This is way less fancy than I expected."

"You thought they rented us penthouses?"

"Maybe." She shrugs. "Isn't that where stars usually sleep?"

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