Page 81 of Sidelined By Love

“As long as you love me, too.”

“And when you get the role?”

“If. If I get the role.”

His gaze pierces me. “Whenyou get the role, we’ll figure out the long-distance thing. Right?”

“I’ll come back as soon as shooting is over.”

“Back here. With me.”

“Yes. Always with you.”

Grant leans a little closer, his breath in the air mingling with mine, his warmth surrounding me. “And the fact that I’m incredibly handsome is . . . ?”

“Is probably going to be a pain in my rear end. But I’ll allow it.”

He snorts and then presses his lips to mine and everything else disappears. There’s nothing but him and me wrapped up together. Only the soft pressure of his mouth against mine and the warmth and strength of his chest under my hands. There’s this moment and a million more to come.

And there’s no one I’d rather be with. No one I trust more. I’m free to love him and to let him love me. No matter what anyone else says.

Nan was right. The truth has set us free.

Even if he beat me to it.

“Be honest with me,” I say when I pull back. “Was I the reason you had such a terrible game on Sunday?”

Heaving a big sigh, he shakes his head but still confesses. “Yes. But as long as you never let me go, I promise not to ever think about you when I’m on the field again.”

“When will you think about me then?”

He looks up toward the horizon where the morning sun is just beginning to roll back the stars. “Every other minute of every day of the rest of my life.”

I tap a finger to his pursed lips. “All right. That’s acceptable.”

Epilogue

Grant

14 months later

The flashbulbs are blinding as I step out of the black SUV and onto the red carpet. I’ve only ever seen things like this on TV, but being inside it is something like being inside a tornado. Peopleare shouting and pushing for a better view. And a woman in black is herding a slew of teenage boys along the carpet toward the theater entrance.

I say a little prayer of thanks that Zoe’s publicist agreed to forgo the limo in favor of a vehicle I can actually get in and out of.

After buttoning the coat of my tux, I turn back to help Zoe out. Her purple high heel appears first, followed by the smooth skin of her leg all the way to her knee. When the rest of her—draped in sparkling silver—exits, the cameras go wild. Not to mention the reporters.

“Zoe!”

“Over here!”

“Miss Peebles.”

That name makes me a little nervous today, but I don’t let my smile falter. Tonight is about Zoe and about this magical film. I haven’t seen it yet, of course. But I was on set enough to know that the movie is something special, that they’ve done justice to the story of Cortez, Texas—the ones who died and the ones who lived.

“Look this way,” the guy up front demands.

Like a pro, Zoe slips her arm around my waist and turns us toward him.

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