Page 115 of Heartbreaker
My gaze lifts. “You’vehadit?”
“I had it made before…everything happened. I was going to propose at New Year’s. Actually, I was going to propose before that—way before that—but the timing never worked out.” My heart clenches at the confession, and it reminds me of what Mamá told me that night on the hotel terrace before Wrestlefest. He’d already asked my parents for their blessing. “I’ve always known, Sav. It was always you. From the second we walked out of this bar…it was always going to be you.”
“You didn’t even know me.”
“But I wanted to. I would’ve found you. Actually, I started trying to, but in the end, I didn’t have to try very hard because you were stalking me,” John says with a toothy grin.
I smack his chest. “I was not!”
John chuckles, reaching down to grip the bottom of my chair and dragging the stool closer to him. “No, you weren’t, but that would make a pretty good story.”
“Please don’t give Amos any ideas.”
Pushing my hair behind my ear, his fingers trace the line of my jaw before he lifts my chin. “Happy birthday, Sweetheart.”
“That’s Mrs. Brooks,” I say, lifting my left hand in the air, and the light catches on the stone.
He laughs and leans in to kiss me. “I like the sound of that.”
A mixture of emotions swirls through me as I stare at my reflection. I look exactly the same as I did yesterday, but something feels different, and that feeling is overwhelming. When I first started wrestling twenty-seven years ago, it felt like this day would never come. I felt invincible, like I could do this every day for the rest of my life. Sometimes, I still think I can, but I know better. For the first time, when I wake up tomorrow morning, it will all be over. No more spending over two hundred days a year on the road, no more late-night drives to the next city, no more feeling like I’m stuck in a time loop, living the same day over and over again. No more seeing some of my favorite people every day, no more all-nighters in the ring trying to perfect a new move, no more races down the ramp to the one place that became my home when I was an eighteen-year-old kid trying to survive.
Twenty-one years ago, I signed with Elite Wrestling Entertainment, and I was just happy to wrestle in the biggest company in the world. I never thought I’d be where I am today. Never thought I’d be a sixteen-time world champion, three-time tag champion, named a Sports Illustrated Sportsperson of the year, an Associated Press Male Athlete of the Year, and so much more. This company—the fans—has given me everything…I only wish I had more to give them in return.
The rustle of sheets catches my attention, and when I step out of the bathroom, she greets me with a sleep-drunk smile. We didn’t get into San Diego until closer to three in the morning after Wrestlefest, where I lost my title to Wolf in a triple-threat match between me, him, and Knox Sterling. I didn’t get much sleep—I couldn’t—but Savannah was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
I climb back into bed and pull her into my arms, kissing the top of her head. She buries herself further into my side, and her breathing seems to even out again, signaling she’s gone back to sleep.
Despite her reluctance to admit it, I couldn’t have done any of this without her. I couldn’t have continued going without her support. When she decided to retire three years ago, I considered joining her, starting our next chapter right then and there, but she knew I wasn’t ready, not really. I still had a few years left in the tank, and she pushed me to keep going. Since then, she’s been holding down things at home while I continued to travel with EWE, even when she was pregnant, despite my protests that I should be there with her. She has been my rock, and when I told her I wanted to do this, her response was: “As long as you’re ready.”
“When did you get up?” my wife asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. Her fingers trace light, invisible circles on my chest, near the scar on my right shoulder from my deltoid surgery years ago.
“Not long ago.”
“You didn’t sleep very long.” She lets her hand trace a line down my side before gliding back up across the planes of my chest.
“Got some stuff on my mind,” I say, enveloping her hand in mine and bringing it to my lips. She plants her hand firmly on my chest and presses a kiss to the column of my throat. A trail of warm, wet kisses up my neck as she slowly lowers her hand. “Sweetheart,” I warn, and she hums against my skin. My dick comes to attention when her hand slips beneath the waistband of my sweats and wraps around the base. I hum in approval, not trying to escape her hold, even though I say, “I have to get dressed.”
“It’s your last day. What are they going to do? Fire you?”
Who am I to argue with that?
I wrap my arm around her waist to roll her beneath me, capturing her mouth. There’s nothing urgent in this kiss; it’s soft, thoughtful, just enjoying the connection. Her hands smooth up my chest and glide around the back of my neck, coaxing my mouth open, and I sigh. Her tongue sweeps over mine, and my need for her only grows. I let out a satisfied hum when I roll my hips into hers.
I slip my hand beneath the waistband of her shorts, pushing them down her legs and leaving her completely bare to me. I push my fingers inside her, and she moans against my mouth, back arching off the bed. “Fuck, you’re so wet already, Sweetheart.”
“I missed you,” she says.
Savannah didn’t join me in Los Angeles for Wrestlefest week until yesterday morning, and I hadn’t seen her for two weeks before that due to a spring European tour. Two years ago, the company decided to start adding an overseas trip once a quarter. While it’s great to break it up over the year, that kind of travel wears you down faster because there’s not a lot of downtime. We move from country to country without a break for one to two weeks straight. Needless to say, I had missed the woman beside me like crazy.
I pump my fingers in and out of her, letting my thumb circle her clit lazily, loving the feel of her slowly coming undone beneath my touch. I take one of her hardened nipples into my mouth through the fabric of her T-shirt—my T-shirt—and she moans in reply. Her hips move against my hand, her body desperate for more friction, for release.
“Patience, Sweetheart,” I say, releasing her right nipple, pushing up the fabric of her shirt, and taking the left in my mouth. Savannah squirms beneath me, and a breathy chuckle escapes my lips when I release her with a pop.
Leaving open-mouthed kisses, I move down her body, nipping at the soft skin of her hip. She whines softly but can no longer contain herself when I suckle her clit between my lips. My name escapes rolls of her tongue like a siren song as her back bows off the bed, fingers carding through my hair in a hard tug.
“Please,” she begs, and my dick strains in my sweats at the sweet sound.
I pull my fingers from her and shove my sweats down my legs, kicking them off the bed. My cock strains up toward me, and Savannah watches with hungry eyes as I grasp my length, fitting the head to her entrance. As I glide up and down her folds, my mouth waters with anticipation, and I stroke my cock two times before thrusting inside her.
