Page 117 of Chasing After You
I feel exposed, like my chest is cracked wide open for Henry to see. That while he calls me his heart . . . my heart beatsforhim. I’m not sure my heart will ever beat for anyone else.
His breathing turns ragged as Henry’s hips start to move more erratically, rocking his pelvis against my clit, the stimulation enough to make my body shatter for him a second time. Henry follows, falling in step with me, my head spinning deliriously as I try to commit the sounds he’s making to memory.
Except, the higher you rise, the harder you fall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Henry
I KNOW I should be paying attention, but I can’t take my eyes off Mirabelle.
She’s standing to the side next to Stacey as they oversee my postgame press conference. Tom is hovering at the back of the room, close enough to reach her in an instant if necessary, but not so close as to draw everyone’s attention to himself.
Mirabelle finally threw me a bone and showed up at the stadium wearing the jersey I bought for her at the beginning of the season. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t know she was wearing it until after the game, I wouldn’t have been able to focus if I had known.
She frowns, glancing up at me, and Owen kicks my leg under the table.
I blink, realizing there are a lot of eyes staring at me, and I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at her. Clearing my throat, I lean into the microphone. “Can someone repeat the question?”
There’s a chorus of laughter, and at least they find it amusing. A reporter raises her hand, drawing my attention to her. “I asked what adjustments were made during practices this week that contributed to today’s win after last week’s loss to the Cobras?” she asks, and I sip the water in front of me.
“I think it’s all about showing up. We’ve got a terrific coaching staff that worked tirelessly to review footage from this season, running drills in practice that focused on weak spots in both the offense and defense behind that loss. The guys locked in this week, putting in the work off the field, and I think that showed today. The Wolves played a great game, but all the credit for those adjustments goes to Coach Lewis and his coaching staff,” I answer, giving credit where it’s due, hoping my answer was enough for Stacey not to throw me in the doghouse for getting distracted.
Stacey climbs the stairs, steps onto the platform, and the reporters groan, knowing the conference is over. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today, but we hope to see you during our locker room access times this week,” Stacey says, and I take the opportunity to get the fuck off this stage because I don’t think I can go another minute without being within arm’s reach of Mirabelle.
She smiles at me as if understanding I’m unable to fight the gravitational pull in her direction, desperate to be in her orbit. I’m not embarrassed in the slightest that I was caught staring at her.
Fuck it.“You played—” I cut Mirabelle off, cupping her face in my hands, pressing a searing kiss to her sweet lips that does little to quell the raging desire I feel for her. The roar of the room fades entirely into background noise, and I can focus on nothing but the fact that Mirabelle wearing my jersey today was as much her claiming me as it was me claiming her.
I still can’t place the flavor of her lip balm, and it’s driving me mad.
Kissing Mirabelle feels like the most natural thing in the world to me.I wonder if it feels the same for her.Despite it not being enough, I reluctantly pull away as her eyes flutter open to meet mine. The flashes of the cameras in my peripheral vision are bright, but nothing is as blinding as Mirabelle’s smile.
She looks at me like I’m enough for her.
I’m the first to admit—to myself—that my issues with my biological mother are the reason I struggle in relationships. I worry I’m spending too much time focused on football to focus on them, or if they only want to be with me because of the benefits that come with being attached to me.
She’s the gift that keeps on giving with her continuous calls, making it impossible for me to forget her.
“You ready to get out of here?” I ask, lacing her fingers with mine, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.
Not soon enough, apparently. The room explodes with excited chatter, all directed at her.
“Mirabelle, did you know?”
“How are your parents taking it?”
“Why not Duke?”
“Will Hunter start at Oceanside?”
“Mirabelle!”
What the fuck just happened?
Owen takes over the press conference, his booming voice redirecting everyone’s attention as Stacey ushers Mirabelle and me out of the room with Tom’s help.
“Go home,” Stacey instructs, and Mirabelle’s grip on my hand tightens. I half-expect Mirabelle to offer to stay, but she nods.
