Page 72 of Fashionista's Playbook

“But your family is there if you want to see them, which counts for something.” He pointed out with a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“I apologize, Travis, that was rude of me. I didn’t…”

“Nah.” He waved me off with a swirl of his glass and reached across the table to cover my hand with his. “It’s cool, Moriah. I remember how much they loved me. They took care of me, even after they passed away. There were policies in place—just not the people. Foster care, when you’re the kid that can afford to play ball, can afford shoes, is worse than being poor and alone. Then—even the other kids don’t want you.”

Vincent going away was more traumatic than I realized. The evidence of what it had done to Travis swept across his face, darkening and hardening his expression.

My heart shattered into a million pieces. The only reason I didn’t cry was that shadow quickly faded. The corner of his mouth curved, and his eyes shined like he remembered something great. “On the field though? I was a part of something bigger than all that. Even in college, I had Dozer, and DeSean and I were on big time rival teams, same draft class, always coolwith each other. A few years later, we’re playing together. That bond was already there, it just got stronger.

“Without my parents and for a while, without Vincent, I had to make my own family.”

He leaned forward and squeezed my hand. “In a way, I still am. And there are others, coaches, players, trainers—who to me are even more important than a family. I think my parents would be happy and proud of that.”

“There are a lot of things they’d be proud of.” I caressed the side of his hand with my thumb. How could they not be proud? Sure, his on-field achievements were awesome—but the man he was, was much more.

A connection, a spark of something I couldn’t explain, lit inside my chest. That little flicker connected us. The sheer weight of the emotion tightened around my throat, and I couldn’t swallow.

“I know someone back home hurt you, that you don’t want to go back. But there are a lot of things your parents can be proud of in you, Mariposa. I don’t want you to regret not spending time with them when you had the chance.” He shrugged. “Invite them down. I’ll put them up in a hotel.”

I straightened and blinked. Sure, I’d often imagined my parents coming to visit, but never had the money. Now that I did, the idea seemed preposterous, right up until Travis said something. “I…don’t know…”

His gaze grew stern, but earnest. “Don’t take their importance in your life for granted. That’s something you can never get back.”

“Okay.” I agreed. How could I tell him no?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Moriah

A glimpse, no matter how small, into Travis’ past had been a welcome respite from the skeletons in my closet.

Learning about Travis made whatever this thing was between us—real. The connection was suddenly something I could feel, even if it wasn’t something I could touch. And it made all those other things matter a lot less.

I laced my fingers with his as we made our way to the truck. The wind had picked up substantially, blowing my skirt around my legs and showing more thigh than polite.

Travis glanced down, his hungry expression easy to read and sending a shiver across me.

Emboldened by the almost full bottle of wine I’d consumed, I couldn’t help myself. “Peeking up my skirt, Madera?”

He stopped short of the truck, the dark lashes curtaining his eyes making it hard to tell where he was looking. But I didn’t stop the wind from lifting the material higher on my thighs. He flicked his gaze to mine and my panties practically melted off—the heat in his gaze was smoldering.

Suddenly I didn’t feel flirtatious—but downright sensual. Lust wrapped tempting fingers around my center and squeezed.

When he licked his lips, my tongue traced a similar pattern on my own.

“And if I am?” He released my hand to slide his fingers just under the hem of my skirt, catching it as the wind lifted again. “Would you show me?”

I snatched his hand and brought his index finger to my mouth, wrapped both lips around the digit and sucked hard, before pulling it out with a pop.

“Moriah.” He groaned and tugged me toward the passenger door. “Wait until I have you alone before you start something like that.”

The tension of the muscles in his neck, the stiffness of his movements as he helped me in the vehicle, fueled my flirtatious ambitions. Once he’d settled into the driver’s seat beside me, I leaned across the console and kissed his neck. The taste of him, both salty and sweet, was intoxicating. I flicked my tongue out across the place I kissed to taste him, before moving my mouth up to nibble and lick behind his ear.

His entire body shuddered.

I’d made this big, tough football player quiver. “Okay, Madera, that’s hot.”

“You have no idea.” His husky whisper was barely audible over the roar of the big truck’s engine as he pulled from the parking lot and into traffic.

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