Page 97 of Full Tilt
We’re halfway to Jacksonville now, the trees thinning, road signs flicking by like blinks. I risk a glance at him again. “You okay with me being there for the match?”
“More than okay,” he says, voice quiet. “I want you there.”
“Good.” I clear my throat. “Also, for what it’s worth, I think our families will get along well.”
Cam blinks. “You think? You don’t think your mum’s going to blame me for stealing you away?”
“She gets very… maternal when she’s emotionally overwhelmed. You’re a good guy. She can tell.”
He huffs out a breath. “Hope she wasn’t too disappointed when she realised I’m not dragging you back here permanently.”
“She was,” I say, only half joking. “But she’ll survive.”
We fall into a comfortable silence after that. Not quite companionable, not quite settled—but honest. Like something’s finally been named between us, even if there’s still more road to cover.
And then Cam exhales softly, eyes on the horizon. “I love you, you know.”
The truck swerves. Not wildly, but enough to make the tyres groan and the wheel jerk beneath my hands. My heart leaps so fast it slams into my throat.
“What—holy shit.” I throw the indicator on and veer towards the shoulder, gravel spitting beneath the tyres as we roll to a stop. Behind us, a car honks loud and long, the shriek of it echoing through the cab.
Cam winces. “Okay, probably should’ve waited until we weren’t on the highway for that, huh?”
I blink at him. My brain’s still short-circuiting. “You—fuck, you can’t just say that while I’m driving!” I gasp, thumping the gear into Park. “What if I’d crashed? You nearly turned us into a love story and a cautionary tale.”
He shrugs, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. “Guess I figured it was overdue. Besides, your reactions are never boring.”
“Unreal,” I mutter, heart hammering like I’ve just run ten blocks instead of pulled over on the side of a Georgia road. I unclick my seatbelt like a man possessed and launch sideways across the middle console—not gracefully, not smoothly, but with absolutely zero hesitation.
My hands find his jaw, and I kiss him. Hard. Open-mouthed. Desperate.
His beard scrapes my fingers, coarse and warm and familiar as hell. I can feel the faint smile tugging at his lips even as we kiss, like he knows exactly what he’s done to me, like he planned this. And God, I don’t even care.
The kiss deepens. He groans low in his throat, and I swear I feel the sound vibrate straight through me.
By the time we finally break apart, breathless and flushed, I’m pressed halfway into his seat and gripping the back of his neck like he might disappear if I let go.
“I love you too,” I whisper, forehead resting against his. “You absolute menace. I can’t believe you just dropped that on me mid-drive.”
His smile softens, and he reaches up to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You didn’t crash.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t explode.”
“You’re lucky I’m not making a joke about that,” he murmurs, lips brushing mine again.
I laugh. Then I kiss him again—slower this time, more sure, like I’m trying to memorise the shape of this new beginning. Because yeah, we’ve still got a thousand miles to go in so many ways. But this? Us? It’s the start of something real. Something that feels terrifying and exhilarating and exactly right.
And okay, yeah—his team’s arriving soon, and I should probably let him rest, but all I can think about is how good he looked this morning with my family, how he smiled when I stole his bacon, how he reached for my hand under the table like it was instinct. I just really hope we manage to steal a spare hour or two before duty calls. Because if I don’t get to fuck him into the mattress before rugby reclaims him, I might actually combust.
With that in mind, I don’t waste time pulling back onto the road to get us to Jacksonville. I drive perhaps a little quicker than I should, but my focus is hard on the road. It has to be. If not, just the thought of being buried deep inside Cam would make me come in my pants.
By the time we reach the hotel, Cam’s thigh is bouncing with nervous energy, one hand gripping the handle above the door like it might snap off. He’s been mostly quiet since I climbed back into the driver’s seat—his “I love you” still echoing somewhere in my chest, louder than any music could compete with.
We pull into the circular drive of the hotel, a classy brick-front place a few blocks from the stadium. He murmurs a distracted “thanks” when I park, but he doesn’t move to get out right away. He just sits there, like he’s trying to steady himself for what’s next.
“You good?” I ask.
He turns to me with a look that makes my blood heat and my heart ache. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and a little hoarse. “More than.”
