Page 161 of Biggest Player
“Wanna know something?”
“Hmmm? You want to watch a sports movie because you’re not in the mood for a rom-com?” I joke, brain barely functioning at the moment.
Dex laughs. It rumbles in his chest.
His big, broad, beautiful chest.
“Literally not at all what I was gonna say.”
What was he going to say, then? “Hmm?”
“I, uh . . .”
I wait, shifting so I can glance up at him. But I don’t press—he seems to be struggling for the words, not that that’s unusual for him.
“I love you, Margot.”
What?
I move so I can sit up, so I can look him in the face. In the eyes.
Shock. Disbelief.
“What did you say?” I ask, voice barely a whisper.
Dex’s eyes meet mine, unwavering and sincere. “I love you, Margot,” he repeats, steady and resolute. Mostly. “I know we’ve only known each other a hot minute, but when I picture what a relationship and love should be like, I picture you. Is that weird?”
My head gives a shake. “No, it’s not weird. It’s ...”
Beautiful.
Nice.
Sweet.
And. True.
“I might not have pictured myself in a relationship with a professional football player. And we haven’t seen much of each other, but I think I can imagine myself as part of your life.” Whatever that looks like.
I mean, how hard can it be to attend football games and cheer him on? How hard can it be to splash around in his pool during the summer and hold his hand and go for ice cream, something he loves very much.
We’ve already had a few conflicts, and we worked them out.
“If you can tolerate Colton, I can tolerate Trent,” I tease, running a hand down his bare chest.
“I can tolerate that prick too.”
I laugh despite myself. “He’s not bad—he’s just butt hurt.”
“You mean jealous?”
I hate assigning feels to someone else but, “Yeah. I guess.”
“Don’t blame the poor bastard. He lost out on you, and now I’m going to be the best fucking boyfriend ever.” He kisses me on the forehead. “Wyatt is my new best friend.”
I shiver. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
