Page 22 of Protecting Player #73
Me: I think I can get it figured out.
Continuing to play on my phone, with no interest in what’s on the screen, I discreetly eye my surroundings, hoping to spot the man who has become obsessed with me.
Chapter 15
T.K
Ican't help but smile at the sounds of men grunting and equipment clashing as I enter the gridiron. This is my life, this is what I've always wanted. What I've worked fifteen years for. Being at the top of my game for so long, I never realized there could be more. With Brea, the sun feels warmer, food is more flavorful, and success is more satisfying.
Do I love her?What is love?It's a feeling, of course, but what is it, truly? Does it mean you want them safe, do you want them happy, can it be defined?
I love my parents, my brothers, most of my teammates, and friends. However, I've never been in love before. There's a distinctive difference between loving someone you've known your entire life and loving someone as a partner, and I have no fucking clue what that is.
“Weston!” Coach Becker yells. “Get your damn head in the game!” He seems to do that to me a lot since I've met Brea. Most men might think of the admonishment negatively, and perhaps I should, but when I think of the woman that I now share a home with, there's nothing negative about it.
“Coming, Coach.” I hustle my ass over to the fifty-yard line and get into position.
Closing my eyes, I take a cleansing inhale and wait for the piercing sound of the whistle to blow before opening them again and exhaling the breath. Locking sights with the guy in front of me, his eyes widen as I make my move. Hands up, I grasp his jersey, ripping him down behind me and beelining for the quarterback. I tap his belly as I run past him, ensuring not to hurt the man who will help us win the next game against the Vegas Fortune.
As I halt in the middle of the field, staring at the uprights and imagining a crowd full of fans, I wonder… Las Vegas. Endless possibilities exist in Vegas. Like eloping and making Brea mine. I keep telling her she'll be my wife. She might not believe me, but it's true; it's only a matter of time. If I can convince her to come to the game this weekend, I think I can talk her into being my wife.
Her sister, Alex, will be pissed with me, and as my agent, she’ll be furious. Her parents might not like missing her wedding, but we can always arrange a reception for our family and friends at a later date. Isn't that a popular thing to do nowadays anyway?
We’ll need witnesses. I'm nearly positive that Cash and Kace would do that for us. Or maybe she'd like her friend Adeline to be there, as well.
“Hey, man, are you alright?” Cash slaps my shoulder, startling me out of my train of thought.
Removing my helmet, I turn and look at him. “Yeah, man. Better than I've been in a long time.”
He arches a brow before pointing at my face. “That look has me a little bit worried, T.K.”
“I'm good, man, I swear.” Gripping his shoulder, I meet his gaze. “Got a favor to ask, though.” After explaining my plan and what I need from him, his expression now matches mine.
Who knew that planning a wedding would be such fun?
Practice carries on as usual. We spend a few hours running drills, trying out new plays, and receiving a pep talk from the coaches.
Brea had off today, which is why she was so busy this morning. So when I come out of the locker room after showering and getting dressed, I'm surprised she’s in the hall waiting for me.
“What are you doing here, pup?” I don’t mean to growl out the question, but a group of men exited the changing rooms with me, igniting my possessive instincts.
Brea pouts, and I'm tempted to suck on her lower lip. “I thought we could go to my parents' place for dinner.” Her simple explanation makes me feel bad for snapping at her.
“If that's what you want, I'm all for it. I thought you wanted to get the rest of your stuff from Thor’s house tonight, though?” She contemplates my thought for a minute before telling me no. “That's fine, we can do it a different day, then. Whatever you want.”
She beams up at me, her eyes alight with joy. I'll do anything to keep this look on her face in the future. She's stunning when she's this happy.
“Thank you, Tate.”
“You know you're the only one who calls me that.” She looks a little sheepish, so I reassure her, “I love it, pup. I like the sound of my name coming from your lips.” I lean into her neck and whisper, “I’ll love it even more when you're screaming it out loud.” The heat of her blush radiates to me as it singes her cheeks.
Slapping my chest playfully, she responds, “You can't say things like that in public.”
Scrunching my shoulder, I correct her, “When it comes to you, I can do whatever I want.”
Her face gives away the argument she’s having with herself. She wants to tell me she's not a piece of property, but she struggles with her excitement when I make statements like that.
“We will need to stop at home first. I'd like to change into something nicer.”
