Page 58 of A Game Plan for Love

Declan: Enjoying the view?

The water sputters out of my nose and all over the floor. Another ding.

Declan: I’ll take that as a yes.

“Why are you texting me?” I cough, expelling the last of the liquid.

He wears a smug smile. “More fun.” Declan walks over to the edge of the bed, leans down, and takes my lips in a searing kiss. “You’d better get ready for the day.”

“What time is it?!” I yell, launching from the bed.

Oh, god.

“Six-thirty.”

I sigh in relief. I don’t need to meet the chef in the kitchen until seven-thirty. He stops me when I’m at the door and drags me back for one more kiss. I fall into him, and revel in the airy feeling in my brain, like I’m floating on a cloud when he kisses me.

“See you later.” He shoves me out the door, and I stumble into the hallway. I spin around, jaw on the floor. He winks at me. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

Declan blows me a kiss, then slams the door shut.

A surprised smile tugs at my lips as I stand in the hallway and stare at his hotel door.

I start to walk away when I hear, “You were wearing those clothes last night.”

Deon smirks as he leans against the wall.

“Mind your business, Adams.”

“He is my business.” There’s an undertone to his statement that gives me pause. He looks me up and down, assessing. “Don’t break his heart.”

The truth tumbles out of my mouth immediately. “If anything, he would break mine.”

Last night made me realize something: Declan could obliterate me if I let him.

The wind whips my hair as the temperature dips on the field.

Ihatenight games in open stadiums.

Freezing my tits off is my base temperature, and as the sun drops below the horizon and the flood lights flash on, my teeth begin to chatter. The only reason I haven’t turned into a popsicle is from running up and down the sideline. Partially to keep players hydrated, but also to keep feeling in my fingers.

Not even the body heat radiating off the offensive line is enough to cool the bitter chill.

Nashville Cowboy fans cheer as their defense takes the field, chanting for a three-and-out. I steal a moment to find Declan, lined up at the line of scrimmage close to the home team sideline.

There’s something incredibly arousing about watching him run down the field, the thick, corded muscles of his thighs working to propel him forward.

It’s not as cold now that I’m turned on.

My time is split making sure players stay hydrated, offering sideline snacks, and drooling over Declan. You could say I am a professional multitasker.

The ball is snapped, and the sideline quiets as Deon scans the field, searching for the open player. The football spirals through the air and lands right in Declan’s awaiting hands. He slips a defender and sprints into the endzone.

Players roar with excitement, and I cheer alongside them, pride coursing through my veins as Declan celebrates in the end zone. He wiggles and shakes, then stops in front of the camera. He says something, waves, and then begins to run off the field.

Special teams take position for the extra point kick, and I hurry along to make sure the offensive players have water. I shove a handful of fruit snacks in my pocket for Henry and weave through the crowd of players, congratulating them.

A hand glides along my lower back, and I step forward to make way for whoever needs to move through, only the weight persists and slides down toward the globe of my ass. My body reacts before my brain and my elbow jams into the gut of the asshole who thinks they have the right to touch me.

---