Page 148 of Devious Love
I’m tired of holding on to the past. I’m ready for the future, with Dominic by my side.
I slide my hands up to the back of his neck and urge him closer. Our foreheads touch, and our eyes connect.
“You make me so happy,” I whisper. “It feels like heaven on Earth.”
“It feels even better.” He smiles, tightening his hold on my waist. “I’m never letting you go.”
“Good. Because I want you with me forever.”
He kisses me again, slow and gentle. Stars dance behind my eyelids, and my skin heats.
It started with a crush and continued with a secret. It caused heartbreak, but it led to love, real and passionate, the kind love songs are written about, the kind I read about in books. And despite the heartbreaks, the hardships and the tears, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Because I’m finally where I am destined to be. I’m with the person who’s always been mine.
Dominic Watson is my brother’s best friend. He’s my stepbrother. And above all, he’s the man I love.
And that will never change.
DOMINIC
Age 33
August, Six years later
The sound of my whistle cuts through the late afternoon air, signaling the end of practice. Rob, my assistant coach, stands beside me, arms folded over his chest. It’s his first year, and he’s taking his job very seriously. I can’t complain, though he could stand to lighten up a little. He’ll earn the boys’ trust more easily that way. He’s got a bad habit of yelling at them anytime they don’t meet his standards. As head coach, it’s my responsibility to cultivate a comfortable environment for everyone while also maintaining a healthy level of competition. He’ll either learn how to work the way I need him to or we’ll part ways after this season.
Though practice is officially over, the boys hang around, talking and laughing like the season isn’t breathing down their necks.
Chuckling, I stride out onto the field and start gathering cones.
That’s when I hear it: little footsteps pounding against pavement along with a shriek of laughter.
I have just enough time to turn around before Noah slams into me at full speed. He wraps his tiny arms around my legs, laughing like a madman.
Joining in, I toss the stack of cones I’ve collected into the crate. Then, I scoop my four-year-old into my arms and hug him tight.
“Missed you, little bandit.”
“I missed you too,” he says loudly, pressing his cheek to mine. His hair is sticking up in every direction, tickling my face. It’s the exact same shade of blond I see every morning in the mirror. “Where’s your mommy?”
“On the way.” He throws his arm out, pointing.
I turn, and there she is. Mia crosses the field, looking like a goddamn vision, with Tyler, our two-year-old, in her arms. She’s wearing a smile that fills my stomach with a lightness only she and the boys bring out in me.
She’s in a jean skirt and a pink T-shirt, her jet-black hair collected into a high ponytail, sunglasses in place. She looks happy. Alive. Stunning.
“Daddy, I wanna play,” Noah says, pushing himself away from me.
Snorting, I set him on his feet. Before Mia and Tyler reach us, Noah is already bolting toward the boys. They all pretend to be cool and unbothered, but they turn into blobs of mush when my kids are around. Our star quarterback, Jayce Griffin, calls my son the team’s lucky charm, because every time Mia brings him to a game, we win.
“Noah, my man!” Jayce crouches just in time to catch Noah in his arms. He stands and spins my son around.
“Be careful!” I yell, just in case.
“Always, sir,” the boys respond in unison.
A few feet away, Mia sets Tyler down and gently nudges him forward. “Go get your daddy.”
