Page 91 of Walkoff Wedding

“Why are you stressed?”

I exhale shallowly. “Because I just want tonight to be perfect. I’ve been working on it all week, and I want you to have the best birthday.”

For a second, he’s quiet, his dark blue eyes searching before he dips his head and presses his lips to mine in the sweetest kiss that has a riot of tingles coursing through me.

When he pulls back, lips hovering a breath away from mine, he whispers, “It’s already the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“But you haven’t even seen everything yet. There’s more,” I respond as my eyes lift to his in a daze. It’s impossible to be kissed by Grant and not feel like the world has faded out around us.

“Doesn’t matter. Because I’ve got the most beautiful wife in the world, and nothing could ever be better than that.”

Okay, officially melting into nothing. I’m hopeless.

My arms tighten around his neck, and I lift on my tippy-toes, pressing another kiss to his mouth. His hands slide along my jaw into my hair, and he pulls me closer as his tongue sweeps along the seam of my lips, demanding access. In a matter of seconds, the kiss turns hungry and desperate, like neither of us can get enough. I’m all but climbing his chiseled body, as embarrassing as that sounds.

Grant tears his lips from mine, staring down at me with a look that I feel all the way to my core. “As much as I want to stay here for the rest of the night kissing you until you can’t breathe, I’m fucking starving. Unless… you want to be my dinner?”

Oh my god. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and my eyes widen of their own accord, causing him to toss his head back and let out the raspiest, sexiest laugh I’ve possibly ever heard.

“W-well… I, uh, I ordered NOLA po’ boys. B-But…” I stammer over my words and then just shut my mouth.

Because honestly, I’m squeezing my thighs together at the thought of Grant doing… that.

“I guess that’s why my stomach is growling like there’s something living in there,” he says with a chuckle.

I slip my arms from around his neck and take a step back, turning toward the table. “I got your favorite shrimp po’ boy and obviously cooked way too many cupcakes, but at least there’s some for later?”

Grant walks to the table, pulling out the chair beside his and gesturing for me to sit. Once I do, he scoots it forward and sits down next to me. As we eat dinner, he tells me about how the meeting with the brand went and how things are going even better than he anticipated.

I love seeing the excitement on his face and how animatedly he talks about their values and how they align with his.

There’s no one who deserves this more than him. It may be the off-season, and I haven’t seen him play yet, but I have seen the way he trains relentlessly, putting in hours at the gym and training facilities to prepare. He’s determined and driven, and I love being able to witness his hard work pay off.

I’m proud of him.

Once we’re done eating, he helps me clear the table, even though it takes twice as long because he keeps stopping to kiss me until I can hardly remain upright.

Afterward, I tell him that he has to stay at least a foot away from me until Auggie and I are done singing him happy birthday because I can’t even think properly when he’s touching me, let alone kissing me.

“These are the best cupcakes of my fucking life, baby.” He groans around a mouthful of icing as he leans against the kitchen counter.

“Thank you. I’m glad you like them. I… have something else for you.” I walk over to the entry closet and grab the present that I wrapped earlier.

I’m second-guessing it, but it’s too late to go back now.

He takes it from me with a boyish smile, one that lights up his entire face. “What did you say to me that one time about spoiling, ArtGirl?”

“It’s your birthday. Everyone should be spoiled on their birthday.”

I shift nervously on my feet as he slides a finger beneath the silver bow, deftly untying it, then tearing the paper off.

When he sees what’s inside, his eyes snap to mine. “Baby…”

“I know it’s probably silly, but I just…” I trail off, my gaze dropping down to where I’m fingering the hem of my dress nervously.

I feel him in front of me before I even see that he’s moved, closing the distance between us so quickly that my breath hitches. The pad of his finger finds my chin, and he tilts it up, pulling my gaze to his.

“It’s not silly. It’s perfect, and I love it.” He says it with such conviction that I believe him.

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