Page 76 of A Game of Deception
I laughed at her bluntness. “I don’t know, actually. Never really thought about it.”
“You like photography,” Leo offered. “Remember that vintage Leica you bought in Prague?”
“Yeah, I still have it,” I said, surprised he remembered. I’d bought it on a whim during a post-season trip years ago. “Haven’t used it much, though.”
“Jimmy was into photography too,” Tara said softly. Then, with a glance toward Chloe, she added, “And Chloe knows all the best spots around Miami if you ever want to try it.”
Chloe lit up. “Oh, definitely. The light here is incredible. The Wynwood Walls, the Art Deco district at sunrise, the mangroves at Oleta River State Park… I could show you sometime.”
“I’d like that,” I said, meaning it. The idea of having a hobby, something separate from soccer and its constant pressure, sounded damn good. And in memory of Jimmy. “Thanks.”
The conversation flowed after that, bouncing from art to travel to embarrassing stories about Tara and me. By the time we finished dinner and lingered over coffee and flan, I was stuffed.
“We should do this again,” Leo said as we waited for the check. “Next time at that new fusion place in Brickell? I know the chef.”
“Of course you do,” I teased, elbowing him.
“What can I say? I’m connected,” he grinned.
“I’m in,” Chloe agreed.
After settling the bill (I insisted on paying, over everyone’s protests), we stepped into the warm Miami night. The street buzzed with life—music pouring from open doors, people laughing and dancing on sidewalks. It felt like a party without a reason.
“Night’s still young,” Chloe observed. “There’s a great little jazz club around the corner. Anyone interested?”
Leo checked his watch. “I’m game if everyone else is.”
I looked at Tara, trying to read her face. She met my gaze, a silent question in her eyes. I raised an eyebrow slightly, and the barest tilt of her head was all the confirmation I needed.
“Actually,” I said, turning back to Leo and Chloe, “I think we’re going to call it a night. Rain check on the jazz club?”
Leo’s eyes darted between Tara and me, a knowing smile spreading. “Sure thing, boss. Rain check it is.”
“You kids have fun,” Chloe added with a wink that made Tara blush.
We said goodbye, promising another dinner soon. As Leo and Chloe headed toward the jazz club, I turned to Tara.
“Your place?” I asked softly.
She nodded, her eyes dark and inviting under the street lights. “My place.”
We’d barely madeit through the door when Tara kicked off her heels and turned to me with that sly smile that always made my pulse kick up a notch. “Nightcap?” she offered, heading toward the kitchen like she hadn’t just spent the whole dinner driving me crazy under the table.
“Just water,” I replied, following her, my eyes glued to the sway of her hips in that little black dress. “I’m trying to cut back on the drinking.”
She turned to look at me, one eyebrow arched in surprise, and yeah, maybe a little pride gleaming in those dark eyes. “Really? The infamous Xander McCrae, turning down a scotch? Who are you and what have you done with my bad boy?”
I shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit exposed under her gaze, but in a good way—like she was seeing the real me, not the tabloid version. “Yeah, well... it’s time. Been using it as a crutch for too long. Plus, I figure if I’m gonna keep up with you, I need to be at my best. You’re exhausting, woman.”
She laughed, and filled two glasses with water from the fridge. When she handed me one, her fingers brushed mine, lingering just long enough to send a spark up my arm. “I’m proud of you,” she said simply, her voice soft but sincere.
Four words. Just four ordinary words, but from her, they hit like a winning goal in stoppage time. I’d spent my life letting people down—coaches, teammates, fans, myself. The idea that I could make someone proud, especially her, felt better than any high I’d chased. I set my glass on the counter and took hers, placing it beside mine. Then I pulled her close, one hand at the small of her back, pressing her against me, the other cupping her face like she was the most precious thing I’d ever held.
“Tara,” I murmured, my thumb tracing her bottom lip, not sure what to say next, only knowing I needed to express the fucking hurricane of feelings she stirred in me. Love, lust, gratitude—all tangled up in a mess I wasn’t great at articulating.
She saved me from fumbling through it by rising on her toes and pressing her lips to mine. The kiss started soft, a question, an invitation—her tongue teasing the seam of my mouth like she was testing if I’d bite. Spoiler: I did. I answered by deepening it, my hand sliding from her face to her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as I tilted her head back for better access. She tasted like the mojito she’d sipped at dinner, minty and sweet, with a kick that made me groan.
We stumbled toward her bedroom, a trail of chaos in our wake—my jacket tossed over the couch, her purse dumped on the floor, my shirt buttons popping open as her fingers worked them. “You’re terrible at multitasking,” she teased between kisses, her breath hot against my ear as I nearly tripped over her discarded heels.
