Page 111 of A Wild Card Kiss
“Open a pie shop?” I supply.
“Yeah?”
I shake my head.
“An ice cream/foosball place?”
Another shake.
“Are you going to be, I dunno, a broadcaster, or a play-by-play analyst?”
I laugh, shaking my head, holding her tight. “No. I just want to be…” My heart expands as the words take shape. I hope this doesn’t freak her out. “A dad.”
She lets go of me, her hand flying to her mouth, tears streaking her cheeks. “Oh my God.”
But I’m not done. “And if you’ll have me, I want to be your man. I want to spend my time with you and my girl.”
“Stop, just stop.”
My brow knits. I freeze. “What did I say wrong?”
She shakes her head, grabbing me harder, pulling me closer. “That is the sweetest thing.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my smile returning.
“So sweet. I love it.”
“You do?”
“I do. So much. It’s perfect for you.”
“I just want to have weekends with Abby. And you. I want to go to her gymnastics showcases, and I want you to come with us. I want to take her to the playground, or whatever she wants to do,and bake pies with her and you, and not worry about traveling to New York or Dallas or Seattle. I just want…time. I want it with her, and I want it with you.”
And I’d really like to have kids with you.
But I don’t say that yet. I don’t want to scare her off. Soon, I’ll tell her. Very soon.
She swipes her fingers across her cheeks, wiping away tears. “I think that’s a perfect post-football career.”
I run a hand through her hair, kiss her eyelids, her cheek, her jaw, then return to her lips. I kiss her with newfound freedom, with the sense that we can kiss again tomorrow and the next day, and then again on Sunday.
When I break it, I toss her onto my shoulder and head for the stairs. “If memory serves, you liked this fireman’s carry,” I say.
“Mmm. Loved it,” she says as I take the steps two by two. “Are you taking me to your room to do bad things to me, handsome?”
“I’m going to do very good things to you,” I say as I reach the landing. When I set her down, I look into her eyes. “Hey. You want to come to the game this Sunday?”
She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Can I kiss you when you clinch?”
Oh, yeah. She knows me so well. “You better. I want a hot, sexy sideline kiss from my woman.”
She tap-dances her fingers up my shirt. “Then you better win, handsome.”
“I plan to.”
I make quick work of her clothes, and football falls completelyfrom my head. In seconds, we’re naked, tumbling onto my bed, and rubbing and pressing against each other.
Her hands slide up my chest, her fingers sending a rush of pleasure through me. “Can I ride you?” she whispers.
