One PG-13 kiss, and she’s frazzled. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are swollen, and she’s looking at me like I walk on water. I could take her to bed right now and happily keep her there for a week. It’s been too damn long. But I won’t. I know from experience that it wouldn’t mean anything to her, and that inevitably pisses me off.

“I think I should get out of here before the fans and their cameras expect you to pin me against the wall or something,” Bailey says.

I arch a brow. “That could be fun.”

She smacks my chest. “Maybe another time.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and opens up the app for Uber.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a cab. I’m in no position to be driving anywhere.”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I drove.”

She turns, scanning the room. “Why didn’t you get a ride with Keegan?”

I grunt. “He just got engaged. You really think he wanted to deal with taking me home before taking his fiancée to their bed?”

Her searching gaze stops when she spots them across the room, where Keegan has Emma pressed against the wall. She’s gripping his shoulder as he whispers in her ear. I like seeing them happy.

“Good point,” Bailey says. “Should we break it up to say goodbye, or just text and let them know we left?”

“Let them have their fun. You can drop Emma a text when we get in the car.” In truth, I’m glad Emma and Keegan are so wrapped up in each other. Bailey’s smiling and loose-limbed from the tequila, and I don’t want to share her right now. Fuck, I never want to share her.

I offer her a hand, and she takes it and follows me out to the parking lot. The crescent moon is high in the clear night sky, and the air has cooled twenty degrees since I finished practice tonight. It’s the magic of living by the sea. I wonder if Bailey would like that about living here.

“It’s good to see them both so happy,” she says, looking over her shoulder toward the bar entrance.

“It sure is.” I unlock my car and open the door for her before going around to my side and climbing in.

“Did you know he was going to do it?” she asks.

I nod. “He was nervous about proposing. He worried it was too soon for her, but he didn’t want to wait.”

“She was ready.” She grins then shakes her head. “Why do all our friends have to go through so much shit to find their bliss? Are they just stronger than everyone else? I think most people would have given up.”

She turns her head and her gaze locks on the bar again, as if she can see through the walls to the couple in question. I take advantage of the moment and study her for a long beat. Something tugs in my chest—an ache for something I gave up on long ago. “If you’re not willing to fight for it, it’s not really your bliss, is it?”

She blinks and turns to meet my gaze. “I guess not.” She looks around the car with wide eyes. “Holy hot car, Batman.”

I grin. Before now, she hadn’t seen my new Dodge Challenger, since I’ve never taken it to Blackhawk Valley. It’s the only outrageous thing I bought for myself since signing with the Gators, and in the scheme of NFL players’ outrageous purchases, it’s pretty tame.

She skims her hand across the dash the way another woman might caress a pretty dress or a handbag. “Has Sebastian seen this?”

“I sent him a picture the day I brought her home, but he hasn’t had a chance to drive her yet.”

Her lips twitch. “Pretty sure he’d jizz in his jeans over this car.”

“He can buy his own damn car now.”

She sighs, and her face falls. “That’s true. He could. I guess everybody from the old crew is doing pretty well.”

“What about you, Bailey? Are you doing well?” We both know she’s not—at least financially.

“I mean, I don’t play in the NFL, but Keegan pays me all right, and I make a little spending money doing the photography thing.”

Then why are you still living in the apartment in the bar? And why do you still wear the same tattered jean shorts you wore when we were back in the dorms?

Why is there a pile of bills for you at my house?

I don’t want to pry. It’s been a good night, and pushing her to open up only ever achieves the opposite. “Where are we going?”

“The Swan Motel,” she says, and when she gives me the address, my brows shoot up.

If she were staying in Seaside, I wouldn’t have to worry. Seaside is small and on the beach, and there really are no bad areas of town unless you have an aversion to tourists or assholes with too much money.

She’s staying on the west side of Destin, about ten miles from the beach. The farther you get from the beach, the cheaper the hotels are, so I’m not surprised.

“You didn’t have to get a motel, you know,” I say as I merge onto 30A. “You could have stayed with me.”

“Right. Because it makes total sense to plan a trip to ask for a divorce and then bunk with the guy I’m demanding it from.”

“I can see your hesitation, but I still could have given you a room to sleep in. I have plenty of beds.”

“What can I say?” she says. “I’m an independent woman.”

I grunt. I’m not touching that one. But when I roll up to the motel, I decide to reopen the conversation of where she’s staying. “This place is a shithole. Do they rent rooms by the hour?”

“Okay, snob.” She’s so fucking cute when she gets pissed off. I miss that. I miss everything about her. “Not all of us can afford the Ritz.”

I frown. “There’s a world of options between the Ritz and this place, Bailey.”

“Careful, Mason. Your privilege is showing.”

There’s a big banner taped to the wall out front, one corner hanging down, that reads 39.99 a night! I dig my wallet out of my back pocket and pull out two twenties. “Here’s money for your room.”

“You’re not paying for my room.”

I slide my wallet back into my pocket and give her a hard look. “Sure I am.”

“Mason, I’m not getting out of this car with your money.”

“Damn right you’re not. That’s to pay you back for a room I won’t let you use.” I put my hand behind her seat and turn to look out my back window as I back the car out of the spot.

“Where are we going?” she asks as I pull toward the exit.

“I’m taking you to my house.” When she puts her hand on my arm, I put my foot on the brake and sigh. “This place is worse than shady. Do they even wash the sheets between visits?”

Her jaw drops. “Oh my God, you are such a spoiled brat. It’s ridiculous.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that room is somewhere you want to spend your night.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but when she meets my eyes, she closes it again. “It’s pretty gross, but I don’t need to be wasting money on a place to sleep right now. As I mentioned before, not all of us play for the NFL. I can’t afford to be picky.”

“You’re my wife,” I say, grateful for the excuse. I hate the idea of her sleeping here. “If people found out you were staying in a motel, they’d start asking questions. It’s one thing when you’re in Blackhawk Valley. You have a life there and presumably have loose ends to tie up. Until you make up your mind, let’s not raise any questions about why you’re not staying with me when you’re down here.”

“Okay.” She folds her arms and leans back in her seat. “But only because my buzz is making me tired and I’m too lazy to move.” She gives me a sleepy smile. “Can I at least go get my stuff, though?”

If she goes in her room, I’m not sure I trust her to come back. I wouldn’t put it past her to lock the door to her room behind herself and refuse to come out. I turn off the engine and hold out a hand. “Give me your key. I’ll go get it.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to steal your fancy car?”

“You’re my wife. If you leave with my car, I don’t think it’s stealing.”

“Oooh!” She waggles her eyebrows. “So, what’s yours is mine?”

If she knew me at all, she’d know it always has been. But this is Bailey, and even though she’s rough and tough and independent, she’s also an awful lot like a nervous stray who will run and hide if you get too close too fast. Tonight, I want to know she’s safe in my house. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

The room is as disgusting as I worried it would be. Maybe blood isn’t splattered on the wall like I pictured, and the bedspread isn’t visibly dirty, but the carpet is stained and there’s an overwhelming odor of stale cigarettes despite the No Smoking placard on the door.

In the bathroom, wallpaper is curling off the wall. I gather all her things and go to the front desk to check her out before heading back to the car.

She’s slumped over in the passenger seat, asleep with her mouth open and her hands tucked under her shirt as if she’s cold.

My throat goes thick at the sight of her, at the thought of getting to take her home. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to cut off those thoughts before they lead me to a night in my bed with her. I know what this is, and I know what it isn’t. We’ll all be better off if I don’t forget that.