ANDRE

Let me tell you, wearing a speedo in public is embarrassing. Getting my nipples pierced at the butt crack of dawn at a random tattoo shop is also embarrassing. Appearing in front of millions of people like this on national TV?

Embarrassing.

What’s not embarrassing is the way my heart threatens to beat out of my chest on my drive home after the game. What’s not embarrassing is the way my hands turn slick with nerves, anticipation, worry that Zoe won’t be there waiting for me when I arrive. What’s not embarrassing is the way I rehearse my speech so that I can tell her how I feel—if she’s even there. If she even heard me on TV.

All of that emotion proves that I’m living. It’s real.

She’s waiting for me on my front stoop when I pull up to my house, and, fuck it, I’m not embarrassed about the not-quite-sob of happiness that clutches my chest.

I throw the car into park and jump out within seconds.

It’s dark out, but streetlamps provide all the illumination I need to see her face.

To see that tears have carved their way down her cheeks.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Zo,” I whisper brokenly. “I’m so fucking sorry.” I edge closer, uncertain if she’ll be receptive to a hug. “Please don’t cry.”

At that, she gives me a watery smile. “Where’s your speedo?” she asks.

I flick the button of my jeans. “Under here. Didn’t want to be arrested for public indecency.”

Her gaze goes to my chest. “And your nipple rings? Have they turned you into the Joker yet?”

I laugh loudly. “I’ll be honest, my nipples are hurting like a damn bitch right now. But I once heard you mention that they’d look good on me . . . ”

“So, you went and got them?”

“A man named Twinkle did them for me,” I tell her. “He had so many tattoos that I couldn’t even tell where his mouth was, but he had a voice like an angel.”

It’s her turn to laugh. She claps a hand over her mouth, her shoulders bouncing with mirth.

“Laugh it up,” I say, chuckling along with her. “I’ll love you anyway.”

That stems her laughter, and . . . this is my chance. I swallow past the nerves, running my sweaty hands against my shirt. “Zoe, I’m sorry for what happened. I don’t have . . . ” I hold my hands up. “There isn’t an excuse for what I did. You walked into my life and turned everything upside down. You started as a friend, yes, but you quickly became my best friend. The only person I sought out regularly. The only person that I allowed to catch a glimpse behind my emotional walls. But I still didn’t tell you everything.”

“Andre—”

I shake my head. I need to get this out, for her, for us. “Not telling you about my past with Hannah is a regret that I had even then. But the thing was, you pushed all the hatred away. Being with you, in whatever capacity, allowed me to just live. I didn’t want to drag her into our relationship. By the time I learned that Aaron had even existed, I was in too deep with you. I didn’t just want a friendship with you. I wanted more; I always wanted more.”

I take a risk and step close to her. Light slips across her features, and I brave a touch to her cheek. To my surprise, she nuzzles my hand, clasping it and keeping it close.

“That day that I found out Aaron was my son . . . I needed you. I wanted to lose myself in your warmth. I wanted to lose myself in the feeling of you. You were right, I did use you, but I wanted to remember what it felt like to be loved.”

Her breath crashes against my palm. “Andre, it’s okay. We don’t have to—”

She needs to hear this. If we’re ever going to move forward, together, it needs to be out in the open. “I didn’t look back after that night because I knew you loved me, Zoe. I knew it, just like you told me the other day, and as much as I craved it, I also feared it. The hate was festering and I . . . Fuck, Zo, I knew right then and there that we needed to stop. No contact. You loved me and I was a shell of a man, using you to feel alive again. That wasn’t fair.”

Her nod is slight, small, but she surprises me again by pressing a kiss to my palm. “And what of now?” she asks. “What’s different now?”

Trust Zoe “the Barracuda” Mackenzie to put me on the spot. “The difference now is that I want to live. I want to live for myself, just as much as I want to live for you. I want marriage and kids and an entire life with you. I want it all.” Swallowing, I add, “That is, if you still want the same.”

She slips a knuckle under her eye to wipe away a tear, and my gut clenches. “Are you proposing?”

Moment of truth here. “I hadn’t planned on it,” I tell her wryly, “but now it’s out there in the open, and so if you want to put me out of misery, feel free to do so.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” I squeeze her hand. “Is that a yes to putting me out of my misery or . . . ?”

Her tinkling laughter is like music to my ears. “It’s a yes to everything, Andre.” Feminine fingers clasp my neck and pull me down for a hot kiss that has us panting within seconds. She pulls back. “It’s a yes to loving you. It’s a yes to waking up next to you every day, even when you hog the covers. It’s a yes to your nipple piercings and the way that you like to boss me around.” She taps my chest. “Be glad I find that domineering side of you sexy.”

“Thank God,” I tease, stealing another kiss from her lips. “We’d be screwed otherwise.”

“Exactly.” Stretching up on her toes, she kisses me again. “I love you, Andre. I loved you a year ago, when you sexed me up in a damn laundry closet and everyone learned that I have a banana-shaped birthmark on my ass. I loved you during all these months, even when I cursed your name and thought of one-hundred and seventy-five ways to tie you up and make you pay. I loved you when you walked into Golden Lights Media, and then later the next night, when you goaded me into telling you that you have a big dick.”

I lean forward, thrusting my hips to her. She releases a moan at the hard line of my cock. “It’s only the truth, Zo. I can’t have you lying like that to yourself.”

She shakes her head, reaches down, and cups me. I swear to God my eyes roll to the back of my head. “You’re right. No more lying.”

“Exactly,” I repeat, mocking her, before I groan at her touch. “Please don’t stop.”

Her hand skates up the length of me. “Ask me again if I’ll marry you.”

Whatever she wants. “Marry me, Zoe?”

“On one condition.”

I grasp her hips and yank her close. “On what?”

“On whether you make me dream about sex with you tonight.”

A burst of laughter escapes me. Because damn it if she hasn’t thrown my own words back at me from the beginning of the month when we sat at her dad’s restaurant. “Well, I’d say that it’s game on, then, Mrs. Future Beaumont.” I swoop down low, hook my arm around her legs, and haul her over my shoulder. “Just resign yourself to saying yes. You know you want this hard stick.”

“Andre! So cliché!” she laughs, striking my butt with a fist.

“I’m a hockey player, baby. Puns are included with the package deal.”

“I’m rethinking saying yes to this proposal.”

I slap her butt playfully, taking away the sting with a rub of my palm. “You’ll be thanking me after I score a hat trick tonight.”

And then I kick open my door, cross the threshold with my future wife over my shoulder, and proceed to do just that.