“You’re insane, Grant Turner.” I dropped my head over the back of the chair, so I could smile up at him, forgetting about everyone else and enjoying this moment. This crazy, surprising moment I’d never forget.
“It’s Jack,” he said, sliding out of his dress shirt, one arm at a time. “Jack Hammer.” His hips pitched into me hard enough to send the chair screeching backward a few inches. “And I hope you’re packing a wad of singles in that sexy-ass dress of yours because this ain’t for free.”
When he threw his shirt over his shoulder, there was a stampede of stilettos to get to it.
“Fresh out of singles.” I trembled when his hands gripped the headrest behind me, his solid forearms running along the sides of my face, caging me in. “Spent those all last night. But I’ll figure out some way to pay you back.”
His brow arched. “You always do.”
The last few tremors jerked through my body, totally unnoticed in a room full of people looking in my direction.
Grant hadn’t just saved me from the big, bad things of the world—he’d saved me from the little ones too.
Leaning up, I kissed him softly. “I love you, you crazy, beautiful man.”
He kissed me again, his eyes softening. “I love you, you crazy, beautiful woman.”
THE PARTY CONTINUED late into the night, and I think we were both surprised by how much we enjoyed ourselves. Several of the players on Grant’s team had come from similar backgrounds to ours, and a couple were married to their first loves from back then. The coaches were a little gruff and couldn’t seem to turn their mind off from the game, but they were good guys who I knew had Grant’s best interest in mind, which rated them high in my book.
The owners might have been another story, but they came with the game and wrote the checks. For the most part, we managed to avoid them, which suited me just fine.
When it hit one and people were still lingering, in no hurry to leave, Grant wound his arm around me and led me toward the exit.
“I think you made more in one lap dance than you did playing for the Storm.” I eyed the wad of cash stuffed in his back pocket, giving his already nicely round butt an extra bubble. “I think you might want to consider a career change.”
Grant chuckled. “Being a male stripper sounds like too much work.”
“Says the man who hasn’t missed a day of practice in his life. Except for the one he spent collecting every scrap of research on the disease formerly known as Huntington’s.”
When he shrugged, the extra dress shirt one of his teammates had let him borrow looked ready to rip apart at the seams. The player was the team’s kicker—not exactly the same body build as the team’s tight end. Still, it had been a nice gesture, despite the woman in the room groaning in protest when Grant pulled on a shirt after finishing his lap dance that certainly delivered in enthusiasm, if not skill.
When a yawn escaped my mouth, the skin between Grant’s brows creased.
“What? I’m exhausted. I thought we’d be out of here hours ago.”
I’d gotten up early with Charlie to get her schoolwork in for the day and go through her stuff with me to pack for the trip. Then we’d both helped Grant pack after discovering his idea of packing for three months abroad was stuffing a pair of jeans, shorts, three shirts, a pair of sneakers, and a football into a duffel bag. When Charlie asked him how he’d forgotten to pack underwear, both of our cheeks had gone the slightest shade of red and we quickly turned the conversation to what Paris would be like in the spring.
“I’ve been good all night. I’m not risking my chance of having my patience go unrewarded if you fall asleep in the truck on the drive home.”
“Oh, it’s less of a risk and more of a guarantee,” I said around another yawn.
Grant broke to a stop in the hall, looking up and down like he was searching for something. Then he spotted something behind my shoulder. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a closed door.
“Grant,” I hissed, glancing into the still buzzing ballroom. The door was closer to the ballroom than the elevator, and he wasn’t what one would consider a quiet or stealthy lover.
“That’s right, baby. You start practicing saying it now because I’ll have you shrieking my name in a minute.” Then, without a look inside, he pulled me into the dark room then sealed the door behind me.
“Where the hell are we?” I asked, grappling around for a light switch.
“Doesn’t make any difference to me.” Grant’s hands found me and he backed me into a wall, caging his arms around my head as his lips found mine.