I stroll inside the Nailers’ conference room with my head held high, and the whole room falls silent as I walk up to the microphone. All eyes are on me right now, and every single person inside the room is expecting me to drop a bomb. They’re right, I’m about to do that, but it’s not the kind of bomb they’re expecting.

I look around, completely in silence, and it doesn’t take long for the room to erupt with questions.

“Is it all over between you and Fiona?”

“Are you retiring?”

I don’t know what kind of drugs these people are taking, but it must be the good stuff. Retiring—what the actual fuck?

“Everyone, shut the fuck up,” I say into the mic, and they all fall silent at once, as if I’ve suddenly turned into Satan himself. Good, I want them to be afraid, because right now I’m fucking pissed.

“As you all know, I’m in a relationship with a woman by the name of Fiona Barnett,” I start, and they all seem to lean forward in expectation as I drop her name. “I don’t know the reason why—nor do I care—but it seems that all of you decided to gang up on her. She’s the best person I know, and you’ve decided to ruin her life just because you might get a spike in audiences and a raise. Well, that stops this moment. As of now, Fiona is off limits.” I let the words hang heavily in the air, allowing them to sink in before I continue. “If you've got a problem, you can take it up with me. If you insist on going after Fiona, I can promise you this: you’re going to have a problem. A serious one.”

They all stare at me with wide eyes, afraid to even make a question. So much for their bravery and smugness; now that they’re standing right in front of me, they don’t dare defy me.

“One more thing, since you’ve all turned into football experts overnight and decided that my career was going downhill, I have one more promise to make: I’m going to win this year’s Super Bowl. That trophy is mine already; the game is only going to be a formality. Now, excuse me, I have to go and meet the woman I love.”

With that, I just walk past the dumbfounded press and make my way out of the conference room. My shoes click across the floor, and the silence is so deep you could hear a pin drop. Yeah, I think these assholes learned their place, once and for all.

I go straight to the parking lot, a smile on my face. Getting inside my Aston, I rev up the engine and pull out from my spot, the engine roaring as loudly as my heart seems to be thumping. I pull into New York’s traffic one minute later, making my way downtown.

When I get to Fiona’s building, she’s already standing at the entrance, tears in her eyes. She runs up to me the moment she sees me, and as soon as I get out of the car, she falls into my arms.

“You asshole,” she cries, “couldn’t you've told me what you were going to do? I barely slept last night.”

“Oh, a little suspense never hurt anyone,” I grin, and then pull her into me and kiss her. “I love you, Fiona. I waited too long to say it, but I love you. And no way in hell am I allowing anything or anyone to step between us.”

“I love you too,” she whispers, looking in my eyes. Her face is a perfect portrait of happiness, and she looks just as beautiful as when I first saw her. I close my eyes just for a second, seeing it happen in my mind’s eye all over again: that touchdown pass, her voice in the crowd, her beautiful face… She was just a stranger among thousands but, in that moment, I knew I couldn’t just let her walk away.

And I didn’t.

“I’m sorry… about everything,” she tells me, but I just place my index finger over her lips.

“That’s over, babe. It’s in the past,” I say, and then pick her up from the floor. With a grin on my face, I kiss her again.

“Now, where to, m’lady?” I tease her. Wherever she tells me to go, I’ll go. I don’t care if it’s my place, The Ritz, Paris, China, or the North fucking Pole. I’ll go to the ends of the world for her.

“Just take me upstairs,” she whispers, lacing her arms around my neck.

“Upstairs sounds perfect,” I say, walking across the sidewalk and carrying her inside the building just in time; at least a dozen news vans are pulling up in front of the building, cameramen jumping out of them as if they’re part of a SWAT squat.

Without Fiona noticing, I look back over my shoulder, throwing a menacing glance at the guys mounting their cameras. They sure as hell are free to do their jobs, as annoying as they may be, but if they step out of line again… Well, let’s just say that I will stop at nothing. Nobody messes with my woman.

I put her down the moment we’re inside the elevator, and the doors are still closing when she jumps on me, crushing her mouth against mine and taking her hands to my chest.

“I could fuck you right here,” she tells me, tugging at my shirt in such a way that the fabric might just rip.

“I could fuck you anywhere,” I shoot back, pushing her back against the mirror in the elevator. I pin her arms over her head, kissing her in abandonment.

Even though I’m sure that I’m going to make my way toward the Super Bowl (and win the fucking thing), I doubt that it’s going to be better than this moment right now.

I’m the happiest man in the whole fucking planet. And that… Well, that calls for a celebration. The naked kind.