Page 45 of Flag On The Play
“Oh my God, you’re an ass,” I laugh, flinging a towel at him.
He catches it mid-air, his grin wide. “I’m ordering pizza. And we’re never speaking of this again.”
“Deal,” I say, plopping onto a stool and dragging my hair into a messy bun. “But extra cheese. I’ve earned that.”
When the pizza arrives, we eat on the couch. Our legs tangled casually like this isn’t terrifying, like I didn’t invite him here to have an actual conversation.
But after the last slice is gone and we’re sipping soda, I know it’s time.
“I meant it when I said we needed to talk,” I say quietly.
His face shifts. Serious. Attentive. “Okay.”
“I’ve been thinking. A lot. And I don’t want to keep dancing around this thing between us.”
“You’re gonna give me a heart attack if you don’t just say it,” he mutters, setting his drink down.
I take a breath, heart pounding. “I’m willing to try. To actually try and see what this could be.”
His eyes lock on mine, and for the first time since he walked through my door, he doesn’t have a quip or comeback.
“But,” I add, “I need you to understand that I have concerns.”
“Okay. Tell me.”
“I can’t feel like I’m just your lucky charm. That if you play like shit one week, it’s because I wasn’t wearing thigh-highs and blowing kisses from the crowd.”
His mouth lifts at the corner, but he nods. “Fair.”
“And I’m a stripper. This is my job. This is what I do. Men flirt, grab, tip, talk shit. They fall in love with the fantasy. And they all say they can handle it. Until they can’t. Every relationship I’ve had has ended because of this job.”
Finlay leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Nova. Do you think women don’t throw themselves at me?”
I raise a brow. “You’re a hotshot quarterback. I know damn well they do.”
“Exactly. We both deal with people wanting us for surface-level shit. Looks, sex, status. But that’s not what this is,” he says, gesturing between us. “You don’t care about my highlight reel, and I sure as hell don’t care how many dollar bills you rake in a night. I care about you. The girl who tried to cook chicken for me. Who challenges me. Who scares the shit out of me because I know if I mess this up, I’ll regret it forever.”
I stare at him, swallowing the lump in my throat.
He shifts closer, eyes soft. “Losing my dad made one thing clear. I’ve wasted a lot of time. And I’m done doing that.”
My voice wavers. “So, what now?”
“Now?” He slides his hand over mine. “Now we figure it out. Together. Day by day. No pressure. No superstition. Just you and me.”
I nod slowly. My heart races, but for the first time, it’s not with panic. It’s with hope.
“Alright then,” I whisper. “Let’s figure it out.”
“Good,” he smirks. “But just so you know, I’m never eating your cooking again.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute, Reed.”
“A lucky charm?” he winks.
And just like that, I know I’m in trouble because I’m smiling like a fool, and I don’t even care.
CHAPTER 14
