Page 115 of Wicked Love

“That,” he says, his voice still unsteady with laughter, “was priceless.”

I pretend to pout. “Glad I could provide entertainment.”

“You do more than that,” he says, looking down at me. “You make everything brighter, Poppy.” His voice dips, and the serious note there makes my heart squeeze.

He hands me a sweatshirt that he must have gone to get out of the car when I was finishing up the last race.

“Here’s this if you need it, but I don’t mind the hole showing your underwear at all. Gives me something to look forward to…if you let me come over tonight, I’ll show you what I mean.”

I fan my face. “I’d be happy to see what you mean.”

Becca bounces over, grabbing our hands and pulling us toward the snack stand. As Becca and I eat our snacks, wewatch Bowie sign footballs and get his picture taken with the fans who have come out to see him.

We take Becca home, exhausted from the sunshine and all the activity. She falls asleep as I’m reading her a story, and Bowie drives me home.

When we step inside, dusk is turning the windows golden. I’m so happy to have the longer, warmer days. I set down my bag, still grinning over what a mess I made of everything I tried. I’m about to ask Bowie if he wants something to drink, but then he’s there, behind me, so close that the heat of him chases a shiver down my spine.

His arms slip around my waist, and he fits perfectly against my back, his fingers splaying across the curve of my stomach. I sigh contentedly. I haven’t gotten used to this feeling, how right it feels every time he touches me.

“I love the way you’re showing,” he whispers.

I inhale softly, my hands coming up to rest over his.

“You look more beautiful than ever, Poppy.”

I tilt my head, closing my eyes when his lips find the side of my neck. My heart aches in the best way. He steps back just enough that his fingers dip to the waistband of my leggings. There’s playful tension in the air now, and I don’t need to see his face to imagine the wicked grin there.

He gives the material a tug, pausing just a moment before he abruptly tears it, the rest of the fabric ripping with a dramatic sound. I gasp, startled, but when I twist to look at him over my shoulder, he’s the picture of innocence…except for the gleam in his eyes.

“That hole has been tempting me all day,” he says.

I burst into laughter, my cheeks warm.

“If you still want me after the way I managed to make a complete fool of myself all day long, then…well, I don’t know what that says about you,” I tease, reaching back to swat him.

He just catches my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

“I do…want you. More and more all the time,” he says. “I blame you…for being so irresistible.”

I turn in his arms, sliding my arms up the broad planes of his chest. And I lean up and kiss him, too afraid that if I don’t, I’ll end up telling him I’m so far gone, so madly in love with him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

BUZZ CUT SEASON

BOWIE

The morning sun filters through the old blinds at Men are from Mars Barber Shop, casting lines across the worn leather chairs. I stare at my reflection. I’ve gone through so many rough NFL seasons, thousands of stressful nights as a single dad, and countless days assuming that my life would never have a woman I love in it.

I woke up with a whim this morning and I’mhere to go for it.

Jeffrey, my barber, hovers behind me, clippers in hand. He looks sick. “You’re sure you want to do this?” he asks for the third time.

I exhale slowly. “It’ll grow back.”

Something is shifting inside me, an acceptance that I’m changing…I want something I haven’t allowed myself to want.

Jeffrey sighs, shoulders drooping. “All right. But I’m blaming you if your fans riot.”

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