Page 38 of Dump Tackle My Heart
Finley texted me atfour AMto scream in all caps.
I rolled over in bed and stared at the message through half-lidded eyes before collapsing back onto my pillow, aka Hudson’s massive chest.
Because I waswrecked.
Exhausted from everything we did last night.
And not just the traveling, unpacking, and prepping.
I told Hudson—Tank—that I don’t want promises.
That once we go back to Consequence, it’s back to business.
Back to real life.
No expectations, no strings.
But the truth?
I already know it’s going to hurt like hell when we pack up the car and head back down this mountain.
Because something changed.
Not just between us, butinme.
He’s not just the guy who basically told me I ranked high on his notched bedpost scoring card.
Who compared me to a goddamn dog treat the first time we banged.
Not just the man who wrecked me in bed, then said something so heartbreakingly careless, I ghosted.
He’s not just the forward who stirs up trouble on the field and retreats into silence off it.
Somehow in the last twenty-four hours, Tank’s shown me he’smore.
And I hate how much I’m letting myself see it.
Feel it.
I adjust the lens, press record, and coach my voice into a smile.
“Okay,” I say, stepping back to get the perfect angle of him, “tell us what’s next on the Thanksgiving prep schedule.”
He grins like he’s having the time of his life.
“Next up? Pie. But I need supervision, which is why the Rovers' own PR assistant Daniela McNally is here to lend me a hand,” he reaches forward, and he pulls me into the shot!
He didn’t.
Oh my God!
He totally just did.
“Tank!” I hiss, but his hold on me is unbreakable.
“What? I’m not that bad a cook, honest, but I’ve been told my crust technique ishighly questionable.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve already seen what you did to the potatoes,” I quip, and he gifts me with a smile.
