Page 31 of My Fair Player

And she was his.

They were done with the fake images and the pretending. That all ended tonight. Now, she was stepping into that role—his wife—with a heart so full it nearly blinded her with its brightness. Their recent conversations still echoed in her memory—his kiss, his honesty, the way he’d told her he cared, how he wanted more.

Tonight.

Just one word, but it meant everything.

It was a night to celebrate. Not just the words spoken on the ice between the couple ‘renewing their vows’ or the love story unfolding between each of the couples so easy to see—but their own. The one they'd been building, quietly, steadily, with each shared glance and every vulnerable truth laid bare. Each conversation, each gesture, each moment that passed, filled with so much respect and admiration.

Ashley’s mind swirled with possibilities, her heart dancing ahead of her toward a future she could finally see so clearly – with him. And hours later, as the scoreboard flashed victory and a rumble of cheers filled the rink, they won. The Wolverines won the game, and she felt like she might be winning Liam’s heart.

The game was finally over.

In more ways than one.

The family room after the game was packed, brimming with relatives and close friends buzzing from the adrenaline. The noise was so very loud, but to Ashley, it felt strangely muffled—as if her heart had its own pulse, drowning out everything around her. The space was far less elegant than the polished lounge Liam had once shown her at their home stadium—no plush seating or complimentary champagne, just hard chairs and scuffed linoleum. Still, no one seemed to notice. The energy was contagious, victorious.

Ashley sat quietly in the corner, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her coat. She knew the drill. After a win like tonight’s, there would be the usual post-game rituals—locker room debriefs, quick showers, a chaotic rush to gather gear. Then, the team would scatter to hotel rooms since flying home this late would land them back around two, maybe even three in the morning. It was the unglamorous part of professional sports, all waiting and exhaustion; except her heart wasn’t tired. It was thundering.

She glanced up—something in her gut tugged her attention toward the door just seconds before it opened.

There he was.

Liam.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

He just stood there, framed in the doorway like a promise, his gaze scorching into hers with a fierce, focused intensity that made everything else around her fade. She stood slowly, heart thudding, acutely aware of the people nearby, yet unable to care. His hand reached out for hers—silent, certain—and she placed her palm against his like she’d been waiting her whole life for that single moment.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. He just pulled her away—past the hum of voices, beyond the chaos of celebration, out into the quiet hallway where it was just the two of them. The stillness wrapped around them like a cocoon.

They exchanged a look, breathless and unspoken, thick with meaning.

“Y’all were incredible tonight,” she said, her voice breaking the quiet.

“Youlookincredible,” he replied hoarsely, his voice rough with feeling. “Are you certain about this, about us? Because if you are my wife, I’mnevergiving you up. Screw the ninety days – I’m talking aboutforevernow. Are you in?”

The words hit her like a wave. Her throat closed with emotion, tears burning behind her eyes. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, she just nodded, fiercely, surely.

“Good,” he said, and his whole posture shifted—tightened with intent. His steps quickened, his grip on her hand tightening with every stride as they both broke into a run down the glass-enclosed tunnel that linked the arena to the hotel. The night glittered around them, reflecting off the windows, but all she saw was him.

“I’ve got the key,” he said breathlessly, jabbing the elevator button again and again like it would speed things up, his urgency almost boyish in its enthusiasm.

Ashley stared at him, her heart flipping. His chest rose and fell like he was barely holding himself back. Then, he leanedin, his lips brushing her ear with the gentlest, most intimate of promises that spoke volumes.

“I’m in no hurry,” he whispered. “Sleep is for the weak. I’m running on so much adrenaline right now it’s not even funny.”

The heat of his breath, the implication in his voice—it sent a wildfire racing down her spine. Her pulse skyrocketed, her hands trembled, and something raw and primal broke loose inside her. Something she'd never known existed.

Without thinking—without caring—she turned and pushed him back against the wall, her fists clenching his jersey. The fabric bunched beneath her hands as she kissed him. Not sweetly. Not carefully. But with every ounce of aching, hungry want that had been simmering in her for weeks.

She didn’t care who was watching. Let the whole darn arena see – she loved Liam Savage, captain of the Wolverines, and was done hiding behind a mask. As the elevator doors slid open, she didn’t pause. She hauled him sideways by the shoulders, dragging his breathless, stunned form inside with her.

“Oh mercy…” he gasped, clearly overwhelmed, eyes wide as she backed him into the corner again.

They collided—mouths, hearts, souls—as the doors closed behind them with a soft whoosh. Then he pulled back, both of them panting, trying to catch their breath. Their eyes met, electric, vulnerable, certain.

The elevator dinged.

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