Page 101 of Chips & Checks
“I want to fall asleep in your arms,” I whisper.
He stills. Then his arms tighten around me, and his mouth finds the top of my head.
“Kitten,” he says, voice rough, “that one’s not a fantasy.”
“No?”
Bowen’s smile is soft and wicked all at once. “That one’s just Tuesday.”
I lean back into him, my breath catching when his fingers trace the sensitive skin beneath the hem of my hoodie. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
His lips brush my neck. “You said you had a list. I’m a man of my word.”
Emotion slams into me, fast and hard. “No one’s ever treated my fantasies like they mattered before. Like I mattered.”
He turns me in his arms, his face serious now. “You matter more than anything, Vi. You’re the only woman who’s ever made me want to rewrite all my rules. You’re it for me.”
I cup his jaw, grounding myself in the rough scrape of stubble and the soft gleam in his eyes. “You’re it for me, too.”
He kisses me then—sweet, but not soft. It’s the kind of kiss that promises everything. Love. Heat. Forever.
I don’t need a perfect fairytale ending. I don’t need a wedding dress or a sparkling ring or a fancy job title.
I’ve got a siren’s bed and a reformed fuckboy who worships me like I hung the stars.
That’s my happy ending.
And sure enough, when I fall asleep that night, I’m tucked into the space where his heart beats loudest, wrapped up in Bowen Murphy and the kind of love I thought only existed in fairytales.
Turns out, I just had to rewrite the ending.
I used to think there were two versions of me.
There was Dr. Violet Sawyer, head injury specialist, good at her job, respected by players, and absolutely off-limits to any romantic entanglements, especially the kind that skate on blades and smell like locker rooms and bad decisions.
And then there was just… Vi. The girl with the complicated family tree and the daddy issues she swore she’d never inherit. The girl who never felt like she belonged in the pretty rooms orthe messy ones. The girl who watched everyone else fall in love and thought, good for them, while pretending it didn’t sting.
But somewhere between the ice baths and the octopus dildos, I stopped being two people.
Somewhere between telling Bowen Murphy he was a mistake and realizing he was home, I figured it out.
I don’t have to split myself to fit into someone else’s world.
Bowen never asked me to shrink. Never asked me to choose between my title and my truth. He sees all of me—the sarcasm, the spreadsheets, the trauma-scarred soft parts—and still calls me his kitten like it’s sacred.
And maybe he was right all along.
Maybe certain rules were never made to last.
Maybe my fantasy fulfillment starts with taking the risk I swore I never would.
So tonight, I curl up next to the man who broke every rule to win me—and let me win him right back—and I press a kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw.
I whisper three words that once terrified me more than any diagnosis ever could.
“I’m all in.”
And this time, the story doesn’t end with a warning label.
