Page 113 of Second-Rate Superstar
“You didn’t answer my first question,” she huffed.
“Oh, right. At some point during that first time, he mentioned already being in love with me. But it was the next night when I told him I loved him that he officially said, ‘I love you’.” I smiled, thinking back on it. “Underneath a blanket of stars. A picture-perfect, book-worthy moment.” I winked. “And I would know.”
“Lucky bitch,” Bristol grumbled. “So, this intense need to write . . . You got your inspiration, didn’t you?”
Shrugging, I stood. “The mind is like a ketchup bottle. Sometimes you gotta bang on the end of it to get the ideas out.”
Snorting, Bristol said, “Pretty sure it wasn’t your mind getting banged.”
We both fell into a fit of giggles. That one was pretty good. Might have to find its way into a book at some point.
“Back to work,” I called over my shoulder, my ribs aching from laughter.
She made a whip-cracking sound. “I’ll be at Nix’s tonight, so you twolove birdswill have the house all to yourselves. Enjoy!”
I couldn’t wait for Braxton to get home to thank him in person for the flowers.
Braxton didn’t reply to my text thanking him for the roses until after their game against the Chicago Crush was over, and he was on the bus that would take the team to the airport.
Braxton:You are so welcome, Firefly. I can’t wait to get home to you.
I’ll be waiting up. What time do you think you’ll get in?
Braxton:Hold, please, while I do time zone math. Let’s see. It’s 10:30 here, maybe an hour before we’re in the air. Two hour flight, give or take, so that’s 1:30 AM. Then another thirty minutes until I’m at your door. So, 2 AM, add an hour from Central Time, and you get 3 AM. I know it’s late. Are you sure you want me to come over tonight?
I’m sure. I miss you.
Braxton:I miss you too, babe. But if you go to sleep now, I can be there as soon as you wake up. I hate the idea of you being tired because of me.
Then I guess it’s a good thing I have the ultimate job flexibility. I took a nap earlier. I’m fine. I promise. Plus, I can use the next few hours to keep writing. Once you’re here, I’ll have a hard timestaying focused. *Wink emoji*
Braxton:You get a lot of work done while I was away?
So much. I might actually meet my deadline at this rate.
Braxton:That’s great news! Makes me feel better about being away, knowing you’re being productive.
Have a safe flight. I love you and will see you soon.
Braxton:Love you too, baby. See you in a few hours.
I was curled up on the couch when Braxton finally made it home. His soft knock was hesitant, almost as if he doubted that I’d been able to wait up.
Jumping to my feet, I rushed to the door, flinging it open and launching myself into his strong arms. Braxton squeezed me tight, sucking in a large breath of air where his face was buried in my hair. “Fuck. I’ve missed your smell.”
I would have returned the sentiment, except I’d been naughty. Stepping back, allowing him to close the door, I drank in the sight of the man I loved. He was still in a suit but was missing the jacket and tie. His white button-down was open at the collar, and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing his impressive forearms.
Damn, my boyfriend is hot.
His whiskey eyes flared when he saw what I was wearing. I’d taken the liberty of stealing one of his Comets T-shirts from his bag before he reported to the team in Minneapolis. I wore it every night while he was gone, allowing his scent to surround me as I slept. It was a comfort I hadn’t realized I desperately needed.
But just as quickly as life sprang to his face, it drained. Running a hand down his tired face, he moved closer, brushing his lips softly against mine. “Can I just hold you tonight, Firefly? I know I’ve been gone a while, but . . .”
He didn’t need to say the words. It was 3 AM, and he’d played—and won, I might add—a physically demanding game only hours ago. Of course, he was exhausted.
Slipping my hand into his, I tugged him toward the stairs. “Sounds perfect.”
Entering my room, I climbed into bed, watching him strip down until all that remained on his muscular frame were black boxer briefs. Slipping in beside me, he pinched at the fabric of my—technically his—shirt. That crooked grin curved his lips. “Looks a little big.”
