At least this one didn’t consist of Jude busting through security wearing a hospital gown, although I was crying right now about as hard as I had then.
“Why are you crying, Luce?” Jude whispered into my ear, clutching me like he was afraid to let me go.
I cinched my arms tighter around him, sniffling into his wet shirt. Not damp, not even tearstained, it was totally drenched on one side. “I’ve got something in my eye.”
“There’s my tough girl,” he said, the smile apparent in his voice.
I felt anything but tough right now, anything but strong, but if it was easier for him to believe I was, then I could play along. “You’re gonna miss your flight,” I said, swallowing around the lump that was lodged midway down my throat.
“There’s another one,” he said. “Training doesn’t start until tomorrow, so it doesn’t matter what time I get in tonight.” He wasn’t being flippant. Jude wouldn’t have any problem missing his flight and snagging a later one if it meant staying like this a little while longer.
But if he got in late tonight, he’d be beat tomorrow morning for his first practice, and he needed to be at his best. San Diego had to know from day one that they’d made the right decision. First impressions were everything and second impressions meant nothing.
“No,” I said, making myself lift my head from his chest, “you can’t miss your flight. So you’d better get going.” I swatted his backside and looked up into his face.
His forehead was lined when he looked back at me.
“Yeah, I know. I’m one ugly crier,” I admitted, pasting on a smile.
“I can’t leave you like this,” he said, swiping a tear with his thumb. “I’ve walked away from you too many times when I shouldn’t have. When you needed me. I won’t do it again.”
These weren’t just words to him. Jude never said or did anything as a mere formality. He was dead serious that he was not leaving, flight or no flight, with me in my current state of blubbering mess. I needed to be strong for him, like he had for me countless times before.
Blinking my eyes, I swiped them with the end of my sweater sleeve. Forcing my mouth into what felt like a convincing smile, I met his stare. The corners of his eyes were creased with concern, the rest of his expression a rung below tortured. This should have been a celebration moment, but I’d bulldozed right through it, thanks to my tears.
Our lives were about to change, to take a one-eighty, and while every other human being who walked the earth would have considered a seven-figure contract playing for one of the top teams in the league to be the best kind of one-eighty a couple could make, I felt the opposite. Money and fame did things to people. Transformed them. And while I had complete faith in Jude, I had no faith in the world he was about to be thrust into.
Football players as a species attracted women. Quarterbacks who made millions playing Sunday-night football were swarmed by any and every brand of fantasy female created. Jude was leaving for California, the mecca for beautiful girls, and the last image he’d have of me was a red-faced Lucy with her bed hair tied back in a ponytail, sporting pajamas, since we’d slept in and nearly missed the flight.
Speaking of flights . . . Jude needed to get his butt through security in about two minutes.
“Go on. I’m fine.” He made a face. “Better than fine,” I clarified, smirking up at him. “Go kick some big-time ass. Show them what a bunch of overpaid, talentless pansies they are.” Lifting up on my toes, I pressed my lips into his. Hunger for more Jude overwhelmed me, as it always did when we kissed.
Four years together, and I still felt every kiss all the way down to my toes. He had a gift, and I wasn’t shy about accepting it.
“Two weeks before I get to see you again,” he said against my mouth, dropping his hands to my hips. “Better make it a good one. A really good one.”
My smile curved against his mouth. Better make it a good one had been our go-to farewell for the past four years whenever we’d had to say good-bye for any amount of time. It was a bittersweet moment, but one I never let pass me by without giving it my all.
This time, especially, was no exception.
Running my fingers down his neck, I pulled him closer. “You’d better make it a good one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, cupping my backside and lifting me into the air. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and our mouths moved against each other in ways that should have been reserved for the bedroom, not surrounded by the masses making their way through the airport.
What was the big taboo against public displays of affection, anyway? It wasn’t like we were forcing anyone to watch.
Jude shifted so he could hold me up with one arm while the other ran up the back of my neck. Kneading the base of it, he pulled me closer. Our lips crushed harder into each other. Parting his mouth, my tongue slipped in, tasting him. Exploring him. Claiming him.
Jude’s fingers curled deeper into my backside as we continued kissing, his low groan swallowed up by the chorus of cheers that erupted around us. The young male TSA agents hooted the loudest, although a stream of servicemen in fatigues weren’t about to be left out of the catcalling contest.
Jude’s hand left my neck and extended behind me. From the chuckles that followed the cheering, I could imagine what signal he was giving everyone.
“Horny bastards,” he mumbled against my mouth, putting me back down. As of late, Jude had been less and less of a PDA man, whereas I’d take whatever I could get. Wherever it might be. He said it had something to do with him not being okay with a bunch of guys jerking off to his fiancée’s face later that night.