I’ve been plucked, waxed, shaved, and perfumed in all the right places. I’ve changed my clothes three times. I’ve had a glass of wine to calm my nerves.
Still, I pace around the apartment until he arrives. I take a deep breath when he knocks on the door fifteen minutes early. I open it to see he’s still got his duffle bag.
“Sorry,” he says. “I know I’m early. I still have to hit the shower, but I wanted to bring Stryker his animal before he went to bed.”
I want to jump into his arms but my son is in the room behind me. And we don’t hug or kiss in front of Stryker. I don’t want to give him hopes of having a man in our lives until I’m sure about who that man will be.
Stryker runs over to stand next to me. He looks up at Brady. “Did you bring one?”
“Of course I did,” Brady replies, handing a stuffed eagle to my son.
I laugh. “You were right, Stryker.” I turn to Brady and explain, “We research every city you visit and guess which animal you’ll bring home.”
“Sounds like a lot of fun,” he says. “I have something for you, too. But you have to come upstairs to see it.”
I smile at the seductive look on his face. “I’ll bet you do,” I say.
Suddenly, my son surges forward and latches onto Brady’s leg. “Thank you, baseball man. I love it.”
It’s the first time Stryker has shown affection for him.
Brady stiffens and I try not to notice the intense pain that crosses his face when he leans down to ruffle Stryker’s hair. “You’re welcome, sport.”
“Baby, why don’t you go add him to your collection? Chloe will be here in a minute and you can show her.”
Stryker traipses off happily as Brady’s gaze follows.
“How about you go shower and I’ll be up in about fifteen minutes?” I ask.
“Sounds good,” he says, his eyes coming back to meet mine. Then he looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time tonight. “Holy crap, you look amazing, Ry.”
I wonder if he gets so nervous about seeing my son that he doesn’t even really see me sometimes.
“Thank you. Is there anything I can bring when I come up?”
“Just yourself. There is nothing else I need.”
He grabs his bag and I smile knowing what’s in store.
Chloe arrives and I assure her I’ll be home by eleven thirty as it’s a school night for her. I brush my teeth again and do one last check of my makeup before leaving.
When I arrive at 16F, Brady opens the door wearing a white linen shirt, a black tie and tan dress pants. His hair is just slightly damp and he smells heavenly.
“Wow,” I say.
“You didn’t think I could clean up, too?”
He traces the heart neckline of my little black dress, his fingers tantalizing me, his hands making promises of what’s to come.
He pulls me through the door and I look around the room to see it decorated with candles and flowers. There is champagne chilling in an ice bucket and canapés on the bar.
“You did all this in fifteen minutes?” I ask.
He laughs. “I had a little help. I had the caterer come early and set things up.”
“We’re eating in?”
“Rylee, I’ve waited two months for this day. Hell, I’ve waited six months for this day. I’m not going to drag it out any longer by having to sit through dinner at some stuffy restaurant.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me to him. “Now, am I going to get a proper hello from my girlfriend, or what?”
I smile at my new designation. But then his lips find mine and I lose all sense of who I am, who he is and where we are. He feels divine as his hard body presses against my soft one. His mouth explores my mouth and his tongue tangles with my tongue as we taste each other. He moans into me. I sigh into him. We kiss until we’re breathless. We kiss beyond that, needing each other more than we need air.
Our lips finally part and he presses his forehead to mine. “Now that was worth waiting for.”
We walk over to the bar and he pops the cork on the champagne. I eye the label on the bottle, impressed that he’s not trying to impress me.
He sees me peeking at it. “You expected Cristal?” he asks with a smirk.
I shrug. “Old habits die hard.”
He hands me a glass. “All of my old habits are dead, sweetheart, you can be sure of that.”
Sweetheart.
It’s the first time he’s ever used a term of endearment for me.
“I saw the press conference. I can’t believe you said what you did.”
“What, that I’ll be off the disabled list soon?”
I roll my eyes and he laughs.
“I know what you meant, Ry. I told you I was going to tell the world about us.”
“Well, I suppose I should thank you for not saying my name.”
“People will find out soon enough.”
“Women everywhere will hate me,” I say.
“They’ll move on as soon as they know I’m serious.”
“Are you? … Serious?”
He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me. “As a heart attack.”
I put my glass on the bar. “What am I supposed to say when people find out?”
“Say whatever the hell you want, Rylee. Admit it. Deny it. You do what you’re comfortable with and I’ll back you up.”
A timer goes off in the kitchen. “Dinner is ready,” he says.
“But we haven’t even tasted the canapés,” I say, nodding to them on the bar.
He quickly pops two of them into his mouth. “Sorry,” he says after he’s swallowed them. “I might just be a little eager to get to dessert.”
I raise a seductive brow at him. “What’s for dessert?”
He belts out a throaty laugh. “You are.”
My stomach flutters. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
We go to the kitchen and I help him carry the pasta dish, bread basket and salad to the table. Then he brings our champagne over and makes a toast. “To tonight. To us. To … possibilities.”
I touch my glass to his and take a drink wondering what all the possibilities are. Hoping beyond hope that those possibilities include my son.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Brady asks a few minutes later, seeing me push food around on my plate.
I take a bite to show him I’m eating. “It’s really good.”
“What’s wrong?”
I shrug and glance back towards his bedroom.
“You aren’t nervous, are you?” he asks.
I push more food around my plate.
“Rylee, we’ve been together plenty of times.”
“But that was just sex. It didn’t have a label on it. Now that we’re—now that I’m …”
“My girlfriend? You can say it, Ry. You’re my girlfriend.”
“Now that I’m your girlfriend, there are certain expectations.”
He gives me crazy eyes. “There are no such expectations. And if there ever were, you’ve exceeded them, believe me.” He puts down his fork and lays a hand on my arm. “It’s okay. We’re good.”
I nod my head. Then I steel myself up to ask him something that’s been on my mind for two months. “What did they say when you told them?”
“The reporters?”
“No, the women. The girls in each city. What did they say? You’ve told, what, eight of them by now?”
“Nine.”
“Nine?” I ask, surprised. I know they’ve only been to eight cities in the past seven weeks.
“One of them looked me up last month when she was visiting New York. Cornered me outside the stadium one day after practice.”
“Really? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. I was still trying to make a good impression and I didn’t want you thinking you had to worry about things when I’m home. I know you worry enough when I’m away.”
“What did you say to her? To them?”
“I tell them all the same thing. That I’m done playing around. That it’s not going to happen anymore.”
My heart soars to hear him say the words. “And how did they take it?”
He shrugs. “Some better than others. Let’s just say I was right not to give any of them my number. And it’s a good thing they all live in other cities.”
“Oh, Brady. Do you think any of them will stalk you?”
For a second, his face pales and it looks like he might be sick, and that has me more than a little worried.
“I’ve gotten a few letters that were delivered to the Hawks’ offices, but nothing too alarming. Nothing you need to worry about. The security in this building is second to none.”
“Will you tell me if there is ever anything to worry about?”
He laces his fingers with mine. “If there is ever anything to worry about, you’ll be the first to know. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I’m not worried about me, Brady. Fans can be crazy. I see the news. Just be careful, okay?”
“You too,” he says. “I want you to be careful as well. It’s why I didn’t give the reporters your name. If you see or hear anything unusual, if someone follows you, if they even take your picture, I want to know about it.”
“People are going to take my picture. Surely you realize that.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “I know, and I’m sorry. I guess I put you in a position, didn’t I?”
“It’s fine. Part of me is glad you said it publicly. Maybe some of them will leave you alone.”
“Sweetheart?”
I look at him and smile.
“Can we stop talking about this shit? It’s not exactly how I imagined us spending our first official date.”
“How did you imagine it?” I ask.
He pushes his plate away and then lifts me out of my chair and onto the table. “Something along the lines of this,” he says, right before kissing me.
I taste the pasta. The champagne. Him. I feel the heat growing between us. His hands wander from my face around to my back where he strokes me up and down before moving his hands around to my front. He squeezes my breasts through my clothing.
“I’ve waited so long, Ry.” He steps back. “I love this dress and all, but I’d really rather see it on my bedroom floor.”
He holds his hand out to me and helps me off the table. Then he picks me up and carries me back to his room, placing me on the bed. He stands back to look at me. He looks at me as if he’s never seen a woman on his bed before.
“Do you trust me, Ry?”
I nod.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“I trust you.”
A brilliant smile comes up his face as he loosens his tie. He pulls it over his head and then starts to unbutton his shirt. I lunge forward and brush his hands away.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
I carefully unbutton each one purely by feel since I’m looking up at his face the entire time. The lower I get, the more heated his stare becomes. When I reach the last shirt button, I lower my gaze and continue on to his pants. I lower his fly and let his pants fall to the ground as he removes his shirt.
His erection is peeking out of the waistband of his boxer briefs, begging to be released. I pull them down and he kicks them off leaving him standing gloriously naked in front of me.
I take him in my hand and look up at him. “Are you saying this is all mine?”
He laughs, pushing me back onto the bed. He climbs on top of me. “Every single inch of me is yours, sweetheart.”
He flips me over and slowly unzips my dress, caressing my back, my butt, my thighs as he removes it. He leaves me on my stomach, unclasping my bra before he reaches around to play with my breasts. I lift my behind for him when he moves his hands to my panties.
He kisses the dimples on my lower back. He slips a hand between my legs and runs a finger along my sex. I moan and bury my head in his pillow, enveloping myself in his scent.
“God, Rylee,” he says, feeling how wet I am. He slips a finger inside me. Then another. His thumb finds my clit and in seconds, he has me on the verge of pure euphoria.
I flip over. I need to feel him. See him.
I grab his length in my hands and feel every silken inch of him. He groans when I quicken my movements. Then he removes his hands from me and reaches into his nightstand for a condom.
“It’s been so long,” he says, rolling it on. “I will take my time with you later, but right now I need to bury myself inside you.”
“Yes,” I say arching my back as he climbs on top of me.
I watch his face as he slips inside me. His eyes close until he hits the end of me. He stops and stills, letting my body get used to him. When he looks at me again, he makes love to me not only with his body, but with his eyes.
This is unlike any other time we’ve been together. He’s slow. Tender. Deliberate. It’s like he’s trying to savor every second. Trying to record every movement.
I’ve never known sex to be anything like this. I never imagined it could be. I find it hard not to let a tear slip out of the corner of my eye. He kisses it away. Then he whispers in my ear.
“You feel so good. I’ve dreamed about this for months. Touching you. Kissing you. Putting my fingers inside you. Tasting you. You’re mine, Rylee Kennedy.”
His words and his thrusts have my insides coiling. My belly burns and my thighs tighten as he moves to the right, hitting the place inside me that sends me over the cliff of pleasure. I hear myself cry out his name. Then I hear him utter mine over and over into my hair.
He collapses on top of me, keeping the brunt of his weight on his elbows and I smile realizing he can do that now. He catches his breath and rolls to the side.
“You want to know what I hate?” he asks.
“I’m not sure lying in bed naked with me is the time to tell me,” I joke.
He reaches over and runs a hand across my breasts and down to my belly, resting it over my heart tattoo. “I love every inch of you, Ry. That’s not what I meant.”
“Okay, what do you hate?”
“I hate the signs women hold up at the games. The ‘I love you’ signs and the ‘Brady is my hero’ signs. Promise me you’ll never hold up signs like that.”
I giggle. “So while we were making love, you were thinking about other women holding up ‘I love you’ signs at your games?”
“Hell, no. I was thinking about how much I want you to come to my games. I was thinking about how I’d love to finally be able to look into the stands and see someone I care about.”
I rise up on an elbow. “I promise never to hold up an ‘I love you’ sign.”
I want to tell him. I want to tell him that even though I’ll never hold up that sign, it’s how I feel. But I don’t. I don’t because I know he won’t say it back.
“Why the long face?” he asks. “You know we’re just getting started, don’t you? We have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
And with that, he climbs down my body, making me laugh as he acts like a starving animal that hasn’t just eaten. But then he shuts me up when his mouth lands on me. When he takes me over the cliff once again. When he makes me fall even deeper for him.