Page 92 of Sure Shot
“What a scam.”
“Right? You’ll have a home office in your new apartment. Or a TV room. Paint that pink room another color,” Bess says. “Anything but Dallas green.”
I laugh and her hair tickles my bare chest. “Seriously, can you and Eric find me a decorator? Someone to pick out some furniture, have the place painted, and remind me to buy things like towels and a bath mat.”
“Of course.”
“I need a bed. It should be enormous. The more space to roll around with you, the better.”
“Did you see that shower in the master bedroom?” Bess asks, her smooth hand stroking my chest.
“No, I didn’t make it that far.”
“It was spectacular. There were three shower heads and a marble bench.”
“Nice. I can’t wait to try it out. You can add that to your five-year plan.”
“Oh, I will.” She settles against me. And then she falls asleep in my arms.
Twenty-Nine
What If
Tank
Life is good again.Really good.
After a brief negotiation, Eric and Wilson agree on a closing date for the apartment in the Million Dollar Dorm. In three short weeks I’ll be leaving the hotel for my new place.
Even better—Bess is back in my life full time. She attends two home games in a row—against New York and D.C. We win both of them.
The second victory was especially sweet. Castro passed to me in the third period—finding my stick after a beautiful deke that sent our opponent’s eyes in the wrong direction. All it took was an airborne shot to the upper left corner of the net. The lamp lit, and ten thousand Brooklyn fans yelled my name.
“That was beautiful,” O’Doul said afterward.
“Nice job,Sure Shot,” someone added.
It was hard to hate the nickname under the circumstances.
The following night, I take Bess out for a steak dinner at Sparks. She orders the filet mignon and the creamed spinach, just like she did all those years ago. And I indulge in a pricey bottle of red.
“Have you been back here without me?” I ask her as the candle flickers between us on the white linen table cloth.
“No,” she admits with a sultry little smile. “But even so—” She leans close to whisper in my ear. “Every time I have creamed spinach, I get really turned on.”
I laugh so loudly that people turn and stare. I order a sinful dessert that Bess picks out, and we eat it together.
When we finally emerge from the restaurant, there’s a limo waiting to pick us up. “Hop in, baby?” I ask, opening the door for her. “This time I won’t have to convince you to come back to my hotel room, right?”
“If I recall,” she says, sliding onto a leather seat, “you didn’t have to do much arm-twisting that first time, either.”
We make out like teenagers all the way back to Brooklyn. In my hotel room, Bess strips me down and gives me a back rub in the middle of the bed, while the Manhattan lights twinkle in the distance. “Are you going to miss this view?” she asks as her hands do amazing things to my shoulder muscles.
“No,” I say quickly. “I need a kitchen and some more space. Besides, I want to live across the street from you.”
Soft lips meet the back of my neck. I close my eyes and let out a happy sigh. Spending time with Bess is everything I didn’t know I needed. I still don’t deserve her. But I’m learning to live with the guilt.
And Bess is happy, too. I can’t deny how she lights up when we’re together. Or how sweet and happy she looks as she falls asleep in my arms. Sometimes I lie awake just listening to her breathe in the dark. And I wouldn’t trade the sleepy weight of her against my body for anything.
