“I just wanted to know what time the flight left tomorrow so I know when I need to set my alarm.”
Sure. Of course.
This woman. That’s not what she wanted—sure, it might have been then, but it sure as hell wasn’t now.
“We’ll need to leave here by noon.”
“Good.”
“Yup.”
Her eyes glittered. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I stayed stoic. It drove her crazy. And as she struggled for words, I took that shirt I’d used to clean up and pretended to finish wiping myself off my hands.
Her chin fell, her gaze zeroed in on that move and she shuffled on her feet.
“Lizzie?”
“H-huh?”
“If you don’t want me to turn those images I just branded into your brain into action in the next five seconds, I suggest you get to bed.”
It was the only warning I’d give. I could do this with her all night. Fuck slow if she didn’t need it.
Hell, I wasn’t even certain I did anymore. There was no slow when it came to us. It was either all brakes or all gas.
I blinked, counted to one in my head. By two, her soft padded feet hurried away from me. By three, her door clicked shut.
Smart girl.
We’d have time anyway.
“You okay?”
“I’m good.” I had my arm draped over Lizzie’s shoulders. The flight had been smooth and easy, but without Lizzie able to take her motion sickness meds or have a drink or two, she’d clung to me like a starfish from the moment we got in line to board the plane.
The flight, for her, had been hell. Couple her fear of flying with her morning sickness and I now owed our travel coordinator, Gabe, a bottle of his favorite liquor since he’d been able to get us both first class seats. I’d given Lizzie the aisle seat, first row, and she’d spent more time puking in the bathroom than any woman her size could possibly be able to manage. She smelled like shit—not that I’d tell her—and her face held a green hue to it. No amount of crackers or ginger ale had helped.
“Let’s sit.” I ushered her to a chair in baggage claim and she dropped into it, pressing her arms to her knees, and held her face in her hands.
“I’m fine.”
She was two seconds from puking again. I grabbed the ginger ale, a sleeve of crackers and pushed them into her lap. “Stay here with the carry-ons while I grab the rest of our bags.”
She’d packed almost her entire closet and dresser and bathroom items. By the time she was done that morning rushing around, one suitcase alone for all of her business stuff and books, leaving behind a pile of boxed things she’d said her mom would send to her, it looked like she was getting ready to move permanently.
Four suitcases later, I returned to Lizzie, whose color had returned to her cheeks and she’d emptied the ginger ale.
“This airport sucks,” she stated, and glared at a row of slot machines like she wanted to tear them out with her hands. “It’s bad when you have a headache, but all that noise is mind-boggling.”
I didn’t blame her for that. The constant dinging and ringing of the slot machines throughout the airport were abrasive at best.
“My area is nice and quiet,” I assured her. “Come on. I’ve already contacted the valet and they’re bringing up my Suburban now.” I gave a quick glance to the massive pile of suitcases like we were a family of twelve headed back from a six-month European extravaganza trip. “I hope it all fits.”
Her hand slapped my stomach, and I feigned a pained grunt.
“You’re a jerk,” she teased.
I grabbed her hand before she could yank it back and pulled her to her feet. “Yeah. Maybe. But I’m your jerk.”
Her grin softened and those eyes of hers glazed over with that expression I loved so much. “Yeah,” she whispered.
11
Lizzie
“How far do you live from the Strip?”
We were flying through the streets of Las Vegas, and in the distance, I could see a massive Ferris wheel I knew was right down there. But so far, Las Vegas didn’t look anything like I’d expected it to. Not a fan of gambling or one hundred plus degree heat, it’d never been a city I’d wanted to visit. But now, I wanted to go down there, just to say I had. To see what the fuss was about.
“About thirty minutes west of it depending on traffic.” He glanced over at me, his left arm holding the steering wheel at twelve o’clock, right elbow braced on the wide console between us. He looked relaxed, maybe slightly humored at my question, and one hundred percent sexy man. “I could have driven you through it if you wanted to see it. But traffic is a pain in the ass.”
“It’s okay. Maybe some other time.”
His lips lifted into a slow, sexy grin. “Yeah. Some other time.”
That damn gorgeous look. It made me think of crazy things. Like how I’d busted him last night after beating off in my own home. I’d never been more thankful to leave my own home. I’d never be able to step foot into my guest bedroom and not imagine him and all his glory spread out on my bed, hips arching into his fist, eyes squeezed closed while he thought of me. Thought of us.
Some other time.
I was preparing to throw away everything I’d spent my life building for this man. A life with him. We had time for everything and anything we wanted.
“Yeah,” I said, returning him that soft smile, letting him know what I was thinking with my eyes. Based on the way his narrowed and brightened, he understood.
He reached across the console and set his hand, palm up, wiggling his fingers—an open invitation.
I slid my hand into his and our fingers tangled together.
“You doing okay? Feeling okay?”
“Yeah.” My hands squeezed his. “Never better, I think.”
His grip on mine tightened, sending a flash of warmth straight up my arm to the organ behind my ribs.
He liked that.
Ten minutes later, we entered a gated neighborhood. He flashed his security card to the guard standing in a small security center, and the gates rose.
“Security neighborhood, huh?”
“Yeah. There are a couple guys on the team who recommended this area. It’s safe and quiet, a lot of money back here, so no one really thinks twice about having an athlete living next door. Joey doesn’t live too far away actually.”
Like me, he’d lived in a high-rise apartment building, north of where I lived, but much fancier and more modern. Had to give it to Garrett, he had style, with both his clothing and his house.
I leaned forward, watched a tight row of one and two-story homes built from stucco with red, curved tiles for roofs. Typical, and what I’d think of when I thought of Las Vegas, but wow, they were really smashed close together.
“Do you ever feel like you’re living in a sardine can out here?”
He chuckled. “Sometimes. Yards are the size of postage stamps. Some of them even have fake turf for yards. Or all bricks. Mine is a yard full of red dirt.”
“Dirt?”
“Yup. I plan on putting in a pool. Hot tub. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds good.” And yet, he’d considered doing all this without me. Moving on. Starting a life here with new teammates and friends I hadn’t yet met. A burst of nerves made my stomach flip. What would they think of me? The girl who got knocked up? Shit. What would bloggers and gossips say?