Page 55 of Your Play to Call

“This is probably annoying, but my wife will never forgive me. I have a four-year-old daughter, Ruby, who is obsessed with you. Like, I’m convinced your music is the only reason she started talking. She did it so she could sing along. Is there any way we could take a picture or something?” He holds onto his phone like it’s gold.

“Ruby?! I love that name! And you’re not annoying. If you want, we could do a quick FaceTime this week? I’m pretty open and would love to chat with her.”

As I’m saying this, FJ’s jaw is about to hit the table. His chin is almost touching his chest and his eyelashes are almost touching his forehead. His teammates laugh at his reaction, but you can tell it’s all in good fun.

“Yes. 100% yes to that. I should mention my wife is also obsessed, but I thought the daughter would be a good lead in.”

The guys laugh even harder. My cheeks are starting to warm but it’s only because this is wholesome. I give him my phone so he can put his number in. I promise to text him to find a time that works this week. He fidgets and kicks his feet under the table, saying how he wants it to be a surprise.

The night is dying down, and I’m ready to get out of here. Most of the guys have left. Besides Zack.

“You know that you’re about to make FJ the coolest dad and husband of the year, right?” he says, leaning his forearms on the table. “That was pretty cool. Gotta say. How’d you end up with this knuckle ball?” He laughs and points to Tripp.

“That’s our cue,” Tripp smiles, putting an end to the evening. We stand and Zack does the same.

“It was great to meet you, Willow. Thanks for hanging out and for giving this guy something to do other than football.”

I’m a twelve-year-old boy, because I’m trying not to giggle over “something to do”.

Zack leans in to hug me and I let him. He has dirty blonde hair, eyes that are like the blue of a sunny sky. He’s taller than Tripp. He’s like a golden retriever. You see him for just a second and you just want to wrap him up. Also, you know he’ll be getting into trouble ten minutes later.

I jot down a few thank you notes, smiling as I put my ‘W’ stickers to seal the envelopes, to hand to our server and bartender on the way out. I can feel Tripp looking at me.

“You ready?” Tripp asks, like he read my mind.

“Absolutely.” He helps me put my jacket on and then reaches for my hand.

We say quick goodbyes to everyone still there on the way out and I make a promise to be at the next home game. A promise I fully intend to keep.

Tripp opens the door, and the flashes and screams are aggressive. While the inside has been a safe space for the team and significant others, all bets are off about twenty feet from the door.

“Holy shit,” Tripp says, trying to keep a smile on his face, knowing that every moment is being recorded. Cataloged. Kept.

It’s a barrage of questions and screaming.Are you dating? How long has this been going on? Is that an engagement ring? Over here! Look! Comment?!

I suck in a deep breath, trying not to let my facial expression give them a single ounce of rattling me. I’ve got this because Tripp’s got me.

“It’s okay. Don’t let go though,” I say, looking down at the hand he’s holding. He winks at me and then reaches in for a chaste kiss, in front of everyone, like we’ve done it a thousand times. I swear I can hear the clicks of the cameras speed up.

I know my security team is nearby and I’m not necessarily nervous but it’s a jarring shift from the cozy restaurant to this. Tripp squeezes my hand and leads the way.

Once we’re in the car, buckled in, and pulling away from the paparazzi, I let out a sigh.

“Well, there’s no going back now,” Tripp jokes with one hand on the steering wheel and uses the other to squeeze my leg. His hand on my midthigh has me wanting him to speed all the way home.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say.

The private elevator doorsclose, and Tripp is in front of me, hands in my hair, pulling me to him. His kisses are feverish, quick, like he’s trying to grab hold of as much of me as possible. I drop my overnightbag and use my arms to put my hands at the nape of his neck. I moan against his lips, the burn in my low belly growing.

He picks me up, my back against the elevator wall. Tripp’s mouth finds the spot on my neck that makes me forget my own name.

And, too fast, the doors open.

Tripp gives me a final kiss before grabbing my bag, my hand, and leading me to his place.

This apartment is stunning. We’re one step in and lights turn on. The ceilings are tall, and the windows are massive. It feels open and exactly what you’d expect for a penthouse in the city.

“Let’s do a quick tour,” he says emphasizingquick. “This is the kitchen. There are always snacks and food in my fridge. Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” We walk into the living room, and it screams cozy even though it’s in such a modern space. Plush furniture, the kind you can sink into, all in dark tones, create a welcoming vibe. There are ottomans and tons of blankets. Different textures, colors, all pulling the darkness of the room together.

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