Page 61 of The New York Nighthawks: Vol 1

I was just getting ready to leave the gym when she sent me a text.

Wife-to-be:My dad told me another one! What happens when football players go blind?

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help grinning at how adorable she was.

Me:What?

Wife-to-be:A referee!

I laughed out loud, drawing a few eyes, but I didn’t care. My focus was on my girl. The day she arrived home, she sent me a corny football joke that her father had told her. Apparently, she caught the bug because she’d sent me another one last night and again earlier today.

Since I was cleaning up my stuff, I put in my earbuds and called her.

“Corny as fuck, babe. However…it’s not so far from the truth,” I teased, making her giggle.

“That’s what my dad said.” Her tone was full of mirth, and I pictured her beautiful smile, making my chest ache. “I’ll try to get them all out of my system by the time I get home.”

“Don’t do that,” I argued playfully. “I think you’re fucking adorable.”

Her comment reminded me of something that had come up today, though.

“Do you need a ride from the airport?” I asked as I put the last of my workout gear into a gym bag. “I wanted to be there to pick you up, but I just found out I have a fucking team meeting right when you land.”Which I was seriously pissed about.“I can send my driver.”

“You don’t have to do that, Jordan. I’ll just take a cab. But you can pick me up the night of the ball.”

“Of course, I’m going to pick you up for the ball,” I growled with exasperation. It drove me nuts when she said crap like that. It was my job, as her man, to treat her like a queen. I didn’t understand why she was always surprised when I wanted to do things for her. It wasn’t a confidence issue, and she’d mentioned that her parents were happily married and her dad worshiped her mom.

The only guess I had was that she hadn’t been able to spend any real time with me and was perhaps worried that I was a stereotypical professional athlete who played the field—pun intended. Even though I’d never been into casual sex—and I hadn’t been in a relationship for a long damn time—hearing me tell her that and seeing it with her own eyes were two very different things.

“How did the shoot go yesterday?” I asked, changing the subject so I wouldn’t ruin our phone call with my aggravation. It had been her last day for this campaign. Today, she was traveling to San Francisco to spend a couple of weeks with her parents.

“It was so cool!” She went on to tell me all about her session where she was posing with exotic animals for a line of jungle camping equipment. Her stories about her shoots were always interesting and funny, but my favorite part was just listening to the excitement in her voice. It sent warmth spreading through my chest, and I was determined to be the one to give her so much happiness for the rest of our lives.

* * *

Two weeks.

Halfway there.

My phone vibrated on the coffee table, and I quickly snatched it up, making the conversation around me come to a halt. Clay, Roan, and Ames—the latter had come over to watch the Yankees destroy the Astros in my theater room—all stared at me. Clay was trying not to laugh, and I shot him a warning glare before jumping to my feet and stalking out of the room.

Wife-to-be:When should football players wear armor?

Grinning, I replied.

Me:I’m afraid to hear the answer.

Wife-to-be:When they play knight games.

Me:Wow. These just keep getting cornier, babe.

Wife-to-be:Okay, how about this? What do you call a person who walks back and forth screaming one minute, then sits down weeping uncontrollably the next?

Before I read the last of the text, I tapped on her name and called her.

“Impatient much?” she asked when she picked up.

“Nah, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

---