Page 107 of Branded
Leo tilted his head to the side. “Why didn’t you go?”
“Well, we had the meeting…” I trailed off when his brows went up. “What?”
“You didn’t go with him because of me?”
“The project,” I began, but he set his hand lightly onto mine. “Forgive me if I overstep, but in the future, please tell me to go pound sand if a side project of mine that you’ve been nice enough to take on stops you from spending time with the man you love.”
“But you paid me.”
A squeeze of my hand. “And I’m telling you that your happiness is more important than my project. You want to put me off because you and Conner can’t leave your Love Den”—I bit back a laugh—“then put me off.”
“I don’t think that?—”
He dropped his hand. “I found love, and I know what a precious gift that is. You don’t waste it or put it off because of work. You grab on to it, you hold it tight, you keep it safe.” His lips twitched. “Even if that means telling me you need to reschedule.”
It was unprofessional.
I knew that.
But what he was saying resonated with me deeply.
Love was too precious a gift to waste.
Not for a paycheck. Not because of worry or anxiety or fearing that I’d look bad.
It was precious.
“Right,” I whispered and reached for my wallet. “I think that means I’d better go book a flight.”
Leo’s expression turned appreciative, but he stayed me when I went to put some cash on the table. “I got this.” A nod to the door. “And I think it does.”
Heart pounding because I was doing this—hopping on a plane, surprising Smitty, being more impulsive than I’d ever been in my life—I got up from the table and hit the door, hustled to my car.
And by the time I’d reached the airport, my phone chimed with a text.
From Leo.
With a confirmation number for the flight he’d booked me.
Twenty-Nine
Smitty
My thighs burned.
My wrist stung like hell from a slash I’d taken from an asshole during the game.
Always, always, they managed to hit me right between where the padding on my glove ended and where my elbow pad began.
More bruises.
Bruises that were piling up now that the season was fully underway.
We’d lost three in a row, which really fucking sucked, especially when we were on the road and hearing the cheers of the hometown crowds going wild as they rooted for their team.
Especially when Brandon’s words stuck in my head, mostly choosing to repeat themselves right after I’d fucked up a play or hadn’t protected Martin so our goalie had let in a goal, and always, always, right after a loss.
I’d stolen someone’s spot.
