Most Likely to Score

“Hell, yeah. That’s my favorite thing to do. I’d like to find one with you.”

“I have an—” Jillian freezes, her gaze locked across the dance floor. “Lily’s here.” She whispers the warning, creating distance between us. “She must have come for the reception.”

Jillian fixes on a smile, waving as she makes eye contact with her boss, who’s chatting with a small girl by her side. I recognize the kid as Olivia, Lily’s daughter. I’ve met her a few times. She’s nine, and she told me I was her favorite Renegade, so I take a chance. After I say hello to the head of the publicity department, I bend down and ask her daughter if she wants to dance.

Olivia beams, and we head to the dance floor to cut the rug to a fast tune.

She shimmies. She shakes. She laughs.

I do the same as Sabrina Carpenter’s “We’ll Be the Stars” plays—perfect music for a dance with a third-grader.

“You’re a good dancer,” she says.

“Not as good as you.”

“But you’re better at catching the football.”

I wipe a hand across my brow as I move my hips, bopping along to the beat. “Boy, am I glad to hear that.”

When the dance ends, Olivia gives me a bear hug, but the one from her mom is even bigger.

I didn’t dance with her kid to win her over. I didn’t do it to smooth the path for Jillian. I did it because I wanted to, and I hope that desire is what matters most in the end.

Not my past.

Not the dumb stuff I’ve done.

Just the things I’ve done lately.

They have to outweigh the mistakes.

An hour later, I nod at Harlan as I leave. He gives a crisp nod in return. He said he’d catch his own ride and take Katie home.

Once I’m outside, I find the limo, grab the handle, and open the door. I’ve made my great escape.

The car door slams shut behind me, and it’s her and me, alone at last. The partition is up. Total privacy. I toss my suit jacket onto the seat.

The driver pulls away from the hotel, and Jillian launches herself at me.

Fuck yes.

She grabs my face and crushes her lips to mine. Everything in my body screams yes the second she makes contact. Our tongues tangle, our lips devour, and our hands are everywhere.

She grabs at my shirt, plays with my hair. My hands fly down her sides, over her ass, up to her neck.

“It’s been too long,” I mutter, then slide my lips over hers again. I have to have her. Must consume her.

This is everything I missed. This is everything I want. Electricity lights my skin, and my brain is a static haze of lust, desire, and something more.

Something I don’t want to give up.

We kiss like a wild homecoming, like I’ve been away for months and she can’t get enough of me. Climbing on top of me, she straddles my lap, hikes up her skirt, and grinds against me. She goes to town on my hard-on, and I can’t stop kissing her. Can’t stop wanting her.

This is fire and heat, and I need more of the blaze.

I fumble around in the pocket of my jacket, finding my wallet and grabbing a condom.

“Need to be inside you,” I grit out, and she nods, panting a yes as she reaches for the zipper on my pants and slides it down.

My eyes stray to her hands undressing me, and hell, this is perfect. This is the view I want for a long time.

I want her hands on me.

I want her owning my body.

I want her to know that she’s the only one I want touching me.

She’s the one.

It’s staggering, the realization that she’s the end of the line for me. She’s the one I want. It’s been hitting me all week long, over and over, in different ways.

I knew it earlier in the week at the game. I was sure when we texted. I felt it again in my agent’s office, then at dinner, and now once more tonight.

And I need to feel it in a physical way.

Need to know what it’s like to connect deeper than I ever have before. I cup her cheek, meet her gaze. “I need to make love to you.”

“Please. Please, make love to me.”

Quickly, I rearrange us, laying her down on the leather seat, then roll on the condom. She slides off her panties, and I groan in appreciation of the stunning view of her perfectly wet pussy. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you, too. Now, please, please. We’re going to be at my house soon, and I need this.”

I slide inside her, and I shudder. It’s unreal. It’s bone-shatteringly good. She grabs my neck, pulls me closer, and kisses me harder, rougher than before.

“Yes,” I groan as I swivel my hips, filling her completely, thrusting deep inside her.

The sounds she makes send me into a frenzy as lust spreads all over my body, but it’s so much more than that. As I go deeper, she cries out, “So good.”

I wrap my arms around her. “I can’t get close enough to you, baby.”

She digs her nails into my ass. “I know. I feel the same.”

“I can’t stand being without you.”

“I can’t take it, either.” She brings her mouth down on my shoulder and bites. Hard. Leaving marks. Setting me off, because I fucking love her orgasms, and she has to be close. I give her what she wants—hard, deep strokes—because I know what she wants, and I want to be with her like this. Always.

Soon, she flies over the edge, falling apart in my arms, biting down on my flesh, and it’s as good as it’s ever been.

No. It’s even better. Because I know what I want.

After I follow her there, coming hard, I meet her gaze. Her eyes are blissed-out. The words that come next are so damn easy to say. “I’m in love with you.”

The sigh she makes is soft and happy, but also a little sad, as she whispers, “I’m in love with you, too.”

This should be a defining moment in the playbook of my life. This should be when the quarterback launches the ball and I run clear to the end zone to score a touchdown.

The trouble is, I fear I’m going to drop the pass, or worse, get slaughtered by a hit I don’t see coming.

We all have a blind side.

But I don’t know how to anticipate a problem I can’t see, so I hold her face and kiss her, a little soft, a little desperate, as we drive the last mile to her home.

When we turn onto her block, she breaks the kiss and sets a hand on my arm. “I want to spend the night with you. You have to know that.”

“Yeah, I know that, and I want to spend the night with you, too, but . . .”

“But the longer we keep sneaking around, the worse it’s going to be.” She brushes a kiss on my cheek. “I need to go through with it this time. I need to tell Lily.”

“And I need to tell Ford and Liam.” I brush my lips against hers once more, as if we’re finalizing our plans. Sealing them with a kiss before the night ends, and the hard work begins tomorrow.

When she’s gone, I tell the driver to take me home.

The next day, I’m up bright and early, the morning fog snaking through the hills of San Francisco as I run. Along the way, I focus on the words I’ll say to my agent and to my new business partner.

When I’ve crested five miles, I head for the gym near my home to lift weights, and forty-five minutes later, I’m energized and ready to make the call.

But as I head for the exit, I bump into my old teammate, Garrett Snow.

27

Jillian

My stomach is a skydiver, executing loops and flips that I didn’t know it could do. I’m pretty sure that at some point it tries to crawl up my esophagus.