Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(150)

Well shit, hows that for perfect timing,

She nods at the kid but whirls back to me; “Will you watch it?”

“Oh, what is it we’re here for? Some sort of telethon? Are you raising money for PBS?” I grin at her as she makes a face at me; “I was actually thinking about heading across the street to that bar and catching the rest of the game or something.”

She rolls her eyes; “Hudson, you are the most infuriati-”

“Reagan,” I grab her hand and squeeze it. There’s so much I want to tell her; so much I need to tell her. But she’s about to go on fucking television for this speech, so instead I just wink at her; “Of course I’ll watch it.”

And I do, and it’s incredible; she’s incredible.

There’s none of Donald’s bullshit middle of the road crap this time; she speaks the truth and she speaks from the heart. She talks about corruption and government kickbacks, and the lack of oversight. She names names, and calls people out right there on television, and it’s fucking amazing. She’s bold and she’s fearless, and once they pull their jaws off the ground, the people there go fucking nuts.

“Ms. Archer!” A woman with a microphone calls out from the crowd of screaming reporters as Reagan prepares to take questions; “You really just came out swinging in that speech, which isn’t quite a side of you we’ve seen yet. You’re already ahead in the polls; what brought this on?”

Reagan smiles and nods her head; “Because a dear friend recently taught me that the things you care about are the things worth fighting to be heard about.”

There are a million more questions, but one guy towards the front is screaming louder than the rest; “Ms. Archer! Ms. Archer! We’re hearing reports from your very own campaign manager about some sort of alleged illicit relationship between yourself and an employee of Archer Holdings, your primary campaign financier. Some sort of ex-Army guy?”

The screaming crowd of journalists actually goes quiet, hanging on the silence as Reagan’s face freezes, and I feel my whole heart skip a beat. But then she’s turning to look right at me in the wings off-stage, and she’s grinning that perfect smile that just slays me every time. She nods at me, her eyes sparkling, and then she’s beckoning to me, and waving me on stage. I give her a quizzical look, but she rolls her eyes and beckons me again before turning back to the gathered reporters again with a smirk on her face; “He’s a Marine, actually, and I wouldn’t exactly call being in love an ‘illicit affair’.”

I’m staring at her like we’re both crazy as I walk on the stage, right into the limelight and the camera flashes and the screaming questions. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Archer?” I murmur as the crowd of reporters begin to scream and hurl questions at us.

She grins; “Which part?”

“Both?”

She grabs my tie and pulls me close; “Definitely,” she whispers, and then she’s pulling me into a kiss right there in front of everyone. This is literally the polar opposite of blending in, but as I scoop her into my arms, I feel the whole world slip away anyways, because that what she does to me. And right there in that moment, I know I’m ready for whatever the fuck comes next because I’ve got her, and for the first time in forever, I feel whole.

We kiss for what feels like an hour but is probably more like ten glorious seconds with the million flashbulbs going off around us, before she pulls back and grins at me.

“Sorry, I probably should have mentioned it before that I love you.”

I shrug and grin at her; “Oh, do you? Yeah I never would have picked up on tha-”

She laughs and punches my arm before I pull her right back into me; “Hey Princess,” I murmur, kissing her again; “I love you too, you know.”

And right there, nothing else matter in the whole fucking universe but her.





30





Hudson




P A S T



I take my time getting ready. As I’m pulling my pants on, or tucking in my shirt, or tying the double windsor knot in my tie, it’s like I’m suiting up my armor to head into battle. I can feel my nerves jangling like live-wires inside of me, my pulse skipping around like a broken record as I finish getting ready; finish getting prepared for this.

I’ve had a million conversations with her over the last few years. I’ve written her letters that I’ve burned instead of sending, had conversations with the memory of her late into the night when I’m alone and sleepless with my thoughts. Hell, I’ve played out this very meeting a hundred different ways in my head since I decided I was going. But none of it has me prepared to see her again. But the nervousness and the jangling nerves is like an elevated, surreal feeling that’s better than any booze.