Page 87 of Play the Last Track
Ever since she told me she wanted to just be us, to wait for a little while before making any major, life-changing decisions, it’s taken everything in me not to rebel and ask her anyway.
But I suppose it would be wise to take her home first. Introduce her to my folks and show her where I grew up. I also need to ask her parents for permission.
I remind myself for the thousandth time that we have time. There’s no working around the season, no wondering if our plans will be messed up because I’ll be out of town. We just get to be us.
“Have I told you how gorgeous you look?” I whisper into her ear.
She smiles softly. “About a hundred times.”
“It’s true.” I duck, pressing my lips to the spot just beneath her ear. “You’re stunning.”
“You don’t clean up too badly yourself, Reed.”
I hum, ghosting my lips over her skin as I pull her in tighter. “Don’t tempt me, or I’ll drag you out of this ballroom right now. I don’t care. I’ll make you come in the hallway again.”
“What is it with you and wanting to fuck in public places?” She giggles as she swipes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. People are starting to move about now, the crowd watching the happy couple disperse as they look for their seats.
Katie taps my arm, her signal that she wants me to let her go, but I just hold her tighter. I can’t help myself when I whisper in her ear, “You make me horny.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You exist.” With that, I uncurl my arms from around her body, freeing her. She lifts the glass of champagne to her lips, smirking, but her eyes don’t leave mine. They shine, the challenge and heat evident, swirling around.
When she turns, her hand reaches back behind her as it looks for mine. I slip my palm against hers, my fingers locking around them, and I let her drag me across the room toward the bridal table. I take my seat next to Katie, Ivy next to her. At Scott’s side, his parents sit, chatting quietly to one another.
“You good?” Katie asks Ivy as I slip my jacket from my shoulders.
Ivy’s face lights up as she leans away from Scott to hug her best friend. “Perfect. I’m perfect.”
“You look perfect.” Katie grins. When they lean back from one another, I scoot my chair closer to Katie’s, my thigh pressing against hers.
I stretch my arm back, pulling it behind me so I can lean it across the back of Katie’s chair. Her hair falls down her back in loose curls, and my fingers are itching to get amongst the silky strands. I love playing with her hair.
As I’m stretching, a nerve pinches and I groan, quickly pulling it in and cradling it against my chest. Fuck. That hurt.
“What?” I glance over at Katie when she speaks, her voice low and dripping with concern. Her body is completely turned toward me now, her hands hovering over the arm cradled against my chest. She’s staring at me, her eyes flickering between my face and my arm.
“I’m okay.”
“You groaned. Is it hurting?” She shifts closer. “Damn it. I knew you shouldn’t have taken it out of the sling for today.”
“The doctor said I was fine to go without.” I slowly stretch my arm, allowing the tight and healing muscles to ease into the new position. I rest it on the back of Katie’s chair, my finger hooking around a curl immediately.
“Are you sure?” Her hand drops to my thigh, and she squeezes her fingers. “I packed it. I can go and get it for you from upstairs.”
I smirk, rolling my eyes. “Of course you did.” I lean in, crowding her as I put my face right in front of hers. “I promise, I’m okay.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” She glances around my face as if she’s desperately trying to find a sign of the fleeting pain that went away the moment I slowed my movements down.
“Yes, baby. I’m good.” I lean in, kissing her gently. I sink the hand leaning over her chair into her hair, cupping her neck and keeping her lips on mine.
Since my injury, Katie’s hovered. She hovered beside me at the doctor’s appointments. At home during the recovery. At the back of the crowd during the press conferences, as we told the world about the injury and that the Super Bowl game was going to be my last. At home, she fusses and clicks her tongue whenever I do something that takes it too far. Like rearranging furniture in one of the spare bedrooms to turn it into a home recording studio for her to keep singing. Or, getting on my knees in the shower and throwing one of her legs over my shoulder.
But, then again, she’s also been attentive. Loving. It’s strange because before her, I thought the end of my career would destroy me. After her, it seems like it’s come to a natural end, like I was waiting for something that meant more to me than playing football, untilI admitted to myself that maybe I’ve been done with playing for a little while now.
Not the game, not altogether. I love the game, but playing? I think I’ve been done for a while.
“Love you,” Katie whispers as she pulls back. My hand drops, but I keep it on her back, my fingers tangled into the ends of her hair.
