“I’ll try, but no promises. And no surprise meal preparation.” He leveled his crust at me.
I took it from him. “Deal.”
He handed me my soda and sat back against the wall that was still covered in posters from high school.
The high from all the declarations was wearing off, and we’d sunk into a comfortable silence like we always had.
“We should talk about Italy.”
I stopped chewing, choking down the crust half eaten. “I was thinking about that too.”
Professor Morgan would be disappointed, but…
“I don’t have to go.”
“You have to go.”
We said at the same time.
“What?” Again in stereo.
“You have to go.”
“I don’t have to go. Then we can figure things out after the draft. I can stay here, or find a local job wherever you’re going to be.”
“You worked hard for this. And it’s your dream. The season is nineteen weeks long. Twenty-three once you factor in training camp and the pre-season.”
“But—”
He pressed his finger against my lips. “Being with me doesn’t mean you have to be with me every minute of the day. As much as I’ve loved living with you for the past year, I’ll be on the road. I’ll have a workout schedule and all kinds of other things I’ll need to do. Knowing you’re off working a job you love and sharing that passion with the people around you—it’ll keep me from missing you too much. That and some pretty hot and heavy phone and video chat sessions.”
I chuckled.
“Don’t think for a second that I don’t want you there. But you need to tell me if you can honestly say you wouldn’t go regardless of what happened in the backyard.”
I leaned back, nibbling on my bottom lip. I wanted to be with him through all these big changes. Taking a moment, I thought about where that need came from. It was a place of fear and worry that somehow, being out of sight, I’d slip from his mind. That wasn’t possible. It wasn’t true. He loved me, and nothing would change that.
“I want to go.” It was whisper-quiet. Looking to him, I took his hand. “I want it.”
“Then you’ll get it. Once we know what kind of money we’re talking about, I’ll find a place in Venice. It might be a shoebox, but we’ll make it work.”
“You’d move to Italy for me?”
“For your fellowship? Of course. Between football seasons, traveling leagues back in high school, and training, I’ve barely been out of the country for more than a few weeks. I’d love to explore Italy with you.” He tucked my hair behind my ear and cupped my cheek.
This heart fluttering every time he looked at me would never get old. The idiot of the century award definitely went to me for ever doubting him.
“My parents and Quinn would love to visit too. Once you’re finished, we’ll figure it out—together.” He squeezed my hand, and the warm sureness of his skin pressed against mine filled my chest with a hopeful happiness I hadn’t thought possible. “They’d love it there. Quinn will freak.”
“I’ll freak about what?”
Quinn poked her head in the door.
“Way to eavesdrop. How long have you been out there?”
She rolled her eyes. “No eavesdropping. I wanted to let you know I’m sleeping over at Stacey’s.” Her backpack strap hung off one shoulder.
LJ sat up straighter. “Do Mom and Dad know?”
“Do Mom and Dad know you’re in here making out with Marisa?”
“Quinn…”
I held onto LJ to keep him from going full brother bear.
“That’s Stacey, love you both! Bye!” She bolted, thundered down the stairs, and slammed the door behind her.
“She’ll be fine.”
His lips thinned into an unhappy line.
I brushed my lips against his to break the gridlock. “In a few months, she’ll be in college, remember?”
“You’re right, but it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”
“True. Although her leaving does mean we have the whole house to ourselves.” I scooted away from the wall, shifting to my knees, and flicked open the top button of my shirt.
His eyes widened and dropped to my chest.
I popped one more open. “I mean, if we’re being practical here. You’ll probably want to stay here, since no one else is home. And you’ll be close by in case Quinn needs anything.” The top of my bra peeked out from between the gap in my shirt.
“You make a persuasive argument.”
I ran my hands over his chest and pushed him down onto his back. Throwing a leg over his hips, I worked my fingers down over the rest of the buttons on my shirt.
His hands shot out and he stilled mine. “Since we are both in confession mode, there’s one other thing I have to tell you.”
My hands froze and my muscles locked.
“Since we’ve promised not to keep secrets anymore, I need to confess I subsidized your rent for The Brothel and took out an extra loan to cover the difference.”
I shot up, slamming my head into the bunk above me. “You did what?”
He sat up and rubbed the spot on the top of my head.
Swatting his hands away, I cursed his name. “Are you serious? Why would you do something so stupid? An extra loan? What if you don’t get drafted? What if you’re walking across the street and a runaway bus runs you over? Of all the stupid—”
He cut off my rant with a kiss.
I melted into it before breaking apart. “No, you’re not going to win that easily. Why—”
“Because I love you. And I knew you wouldn’t take the help, so I did it for you.”
My head dropped back and I stared up at the slats of the bunk with pictures of us slotted in them.
In his own annoyingly perfect way, he’d protected me. Even if I didn’t like his methods, I couldn’t doubt the outcome. “When you put it like that…I’m paying you back.”
“I’m sure we can work out a generous payment schedule.” His hands gripped my ass and he pulled me forward until I fell against his chest. Our lips met and we were in a race to see who could get the other undressed first. No matter who was victorious, we were both winners.
Epilogue
LJ
I sat in the room buzzing with anticipatory energy I’d never felt before—not before playoffs or a championship, not even before signing the letter to come to Fulton U. Fifty ten-seater tables were crammed into the room with pro banners hanging behind a stage with a podium and a massive LED screen.
Cameras were set up all over the perimeter of the room in the belly of Madison Square Garden. My feet rested on a cable bundle taped down to the concrete floor. I was surrounded by players, agents, and parents decked out and ready for the big moment.
Roving cameras moved throughout the tables, stopping off for interviews with the other draft prospects. An electric energy reverberated in the room. Everyone sized everyone else up, trying to work out when their name would be called. It would be the difference between an eight-figure signing bonus and a five-figure one, and contracts for tens of millions spread out over a few years.