Page 156 of This Heart Of Mine (Chicago Stars 5)

“You’re not making sense. What do you mean that she wants you to have a love story? I’d already told her I loved you.”

“She’s a romantic. Almost as much as me. An ordinary love story isn’t good enough. She wants me to have something I’ll remember my whole life, something to pull out and examine if you forget to send flowers on our anniversary or get mad because I put a dent in the car.”

“I’m sure you understand what you’re talking about, but I don’t have a clue.”

“If you were a woman you would.”

“Well, excuse me for having a—”

“Words are wonderful, but every once in a while a few women are lucky enough to have something extra, something unforgettable.” This was so basic to her that she had to make him understand. “Don’t you see? Dan saved her life! He was willing to give up everything for her. Because of that, Phoebe always knows she comes first with him—ahead of football, ahead of his ambition, ahead of everything. She wanted me to have the same thing with you, so she convinced you that you had to choose.”

“I’m supposed to believe that she jeopardized the entire team just to force me into making some kind of grand romantic gesture?” He was starting to shout. “I’m supposed to believe this?”

Kevin loved her! She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his frustration. He’d been willing to give up the team for her, and her heart sang. But the sound was almost drowned out by another noise—one as unexpected as it was inevitable.

The clang of a fire alarm.

She tried to ignore it. Even though she knew Kevin’s career with the Stars was as secure as ever, he hadn’t known it, and the fact was, he’d been willing to make the sacrifice.

Yes, her heart was definitely singing. Yes, this was a moment she could spend her entire life reliving. A moment that was perfect.

Except for the fire alarm.

She refused to listen to it. “You seem a little angry.”

“Angry? Now, why would I be angry?”

“Because you thought Phoebe kicked you off the Stars.”

“You forget that I don’t care about the Stars anymore. You forget that I want to play for a team with an owner who understands that the point of the game is winning, not jeopardizing millions of dollars in revenue so her star quarterback can play Sir Galahad!”

The fire alarm clanged louder. “Then you didn’t make much of a sacrifice.”

He was a champion, so he could spot the blitz coming from a mile away, and his expression grew wary. “This is important to you? This whole romantic-gesture thing?”

Clang… Clang… Clang… “I have to get ready for tea.”

“I haven’t done enough? You want something more?”

“Not at all.”

A muffled curse, and then he swept her into his arms and began carrying her toward the woods. “How’s this for a romantic gesture?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, crossed her ankles, a perfect portrait of petulance, but she felt sick. “If this involves naked bodies, it’s sex, not romance.”

Unfortunately, he set her down instead of kissing her until he’d drowned out the sound of a thousand fire alarms. “You think I don’t know the difference between sex and romance? You think because I’m male, I’m obtuse.”

Her Great Love Story was on a downhill spiral because of a fire alarm that had grown so loud she wanted to cover her ears. “I guess only you can answer that question.”

“All right, here’s what I’m going to do.” He took a deep breath and met her gaze straight on. “I’ll win the Super Bowl for you.”

She realized he meant it, and little starbursts of happiness exploded inside her—each one punctuated by the noise of the alarm. Right then she understood that she was facing the fundamental question of her life, a question that had its roots in the heart of a little girl who’d been emotionally abandoned when she was much too young. Kevin Tucker was strong enough to slay dragons for her and strong enough to win the Super Bowl for her, but was he strong enough to love her even when she wasn’t lovable? She needed an answer that would quiet the fire alarm forever.

“It’s only July, loser,” she sneered. “By Super Bowl Sunday I’ll have forgotten your name.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Whatever.” She scratched a mosquito bite, looked bored, and spoke the ugliest words she’d ever said. “My mistake. I really don’t think I love you after all.”

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