Page 98 of Filthy Player

“Our place. You said my house was your home, so if I agree to go play this game, you agree to move in with me.”

A rush of warmth flooded my veins and it had nothing to do with the blanket covering me or his body so close to mine. We were on the couch, but there were a half-dozen people in the room. A quick scan told me none of them were even pretending not to be listening to this.

“You’re blackmailing me into moving in with you? Now?” My brows rose.

“No. I’m using all the plays at my disposal.” His grin died and his face went serious. “I love you, Paige. I want you there. Everything feels right when you’re in my home. Move in with me.”

Tears blurred my vision and I didn’t bother blinking them away.

He was right. When Beaux showed up at the hospital, all I’d wanted was him. I wanted to be surrounded by him. And with everything my dad had already shared with me about his future plans, there was nothing holding me back.

Not anymore.

“Okay,” I whispered. My fingers slid to his neck, back into his hair. His head fell forward until our lips brushed against each other’s. “I’ll move in with you.”

“And I’ll kiss you properly when your dad isn’t staring us down and we don’t have an audience.”

I laughed against his mouth and he kissed me anyway. It was short and sweet, given the audience, but it still left my breathless. I forgot anyone else was in the room until Melanie whooped and hollered, “Woo-hoo! This calls for champagne!”

***

The Rough Rider’s lost.

I watched the game from my living room in Beaux’s townhome with Dad, Melanie, Shannon, and Mike.

When I agreed to move in with him Saturday, he demanded I pack up and get moved in so he could come home to me, to our home, after he returned from the game. The men from the garage came and moved everything over as I packed my clothes and personal things. But I stayed the night at my dad’s house.

Sunday morning, Jaxon came over and loaded me into his Explorer while everyone else followed us to Beaux’s or met us there.

He was still hanging close even though when he showed up early Sunday morning, he’d said he had one of his men go to Hannah’s apartment. They’d found dozens more photos of Beaux and I together and apart. He said they also found three DVDs, the same kind that had been in the garage. I suspected it wasn’t all they found, but I didn’t ask more questions.

I knew all I needed to know.

They turned around and called Raleigh PD, gave them all the evidence, and Agent Spellman had stopped by shortly after to talk with me about the events that occurred.

Beaux hadn’t been there to hold me while I cried through the story, reliving the fear I’d felt when I realized Hannah wanted to hurt me. But my dad held one hand, Melanie held the other, and even though Beaux wasn’t there, I was still thinking of him, getting through it. When I was done, Agent Spellman handed me his card and told me to call him if I remembered or thought of anything else. The PD would continue investigating but considering it seemed pretty cut and dry that Hannah had been the person sending the notes, I doubted anything would come of it.

I tried, again, to push it all out of my mind. I didn’t know what to think of Hannah, how she’d tried not just to hurt me, but kill me, and willing to take her own life in the process.

I’d deal with it someday when I wasn’t still wearing a brace on my arm, and hearing the screeching of a car slamming through metal in my dreams.

Then the game started, and with each passing quarter, Shannon and I grew exponentially more frustrated. The offense struggled to move the ball. The defense couldn’t stop Seattle’s running game.

In the end, Seattle won twenty-one to six, our only points coming from two, fifty-yard field goals. Beaux left the game looking dejected and I started planning how to help him feel better.

“Well, that sucked,” Shannon said, slumping into the couch next to me. “Oliver’s going to be one grumpy man when he gets home tonight.”

She didn’t sound that upset about Oliver’s grumpiness. From the time I’d spent with them, I figured even if Oliver was upset about the game, one look at his fiancée and he’d turn into a sweetheart.

“How does Beaux take losses?” I asked. It was their first loss of the season. I hadn’t been around him after one and even after a win he always finds a way he or the team can improve.

“Like he takes everything else.”

Figured. Nothing ruffled the guy, except for me.

“Well, that was fun,” my dad said. “But I need to head back home. Lots to do and lots to start packing up.”

Over the weekend, Dad and I had talked more about his decisions and while they still made me uncomfortable, I now understood them.

---