I pump my fist. “Score.”
He bites his bottom lip, a strange expression on his face.
“What?” I ask.
“So . . . I was on the plane, thinking about how to tell you all this, and I had this idea of getting on the intercom, maybe playing my guitar and singing ‘Jolene’; then I realized there’s a lunch lady named Jolene and I can’t sing. Plus, it felt cheesy—”
“Totally. Dorkish. Downright stupidly romantic—”
“Do you want me to get on the intercom and tell the whole school how I’m going to be your man until the end of time?”
I swipe away a tear. “No. We’d be those ridiculous people I roll my eyes at.”
He laughs softly. “Ah, then how about I sing ‘Say You Won’t Let Go’ now? I’ve been working on it. There’s no guitar, but . . .”
My heart soars as he sings the words softly, a song about a guy who meets a girl at a party—yes, there’s alcohol involved. The years pass, and he’s waiting for her to see him as he dreams of them growing old together.
He finishes the song. “I’m sorry I was a selfish dick from the moment we met.”
“I’m sorry I sneered at your necklace this morning, then rolled around in your shirts, then slapped your arm.”
He chuckles, then sobers, his eyes glinting with emotion. “My glow is not in New York, Nova. It’s right here with you. The team is extra. I’ve never loved someone like this.”
The enormity of his words settles over me, and I kiss him tenderly, then graze my lips over his scarred cheek to whisper in his ear. “Same, darling.”
We get sidetracked, our hands tracing each other, seeking solace from the days we spent wondering what the future held.
I lean back. “Have you told the players?”
“Principal Lancaster herded me in the office when I walked in. He announced it on the intercom: ‘Coach Smith turned down the Pythons to stay at Blue Belle.’ I could hear the cheers from the office. I guess you didn’t hear it because you were in the closet.”
“I was depressed.”
“Poor girl . . .” He brushes his fingers over my breasts, caressing my nipples through my blouse.
I ease out of his lap.
He grunts. “What are you doing?”
I unbutton my shirt and toss it off, exposing my black velvet bra. I unzip my skirt and kick it off. My shoes fell off earlier when he picked me up.
His chest rises as he watches me. “Is this a sex game? We only have about fifteen minutes before everyone gets here . . .”
“This won’t take long.” I sashay back, sit on top of him, and swivel my hips. “Would you like a lap dance, sir?”
“How much?”
He catches on quick.
“Twenty for the dance, fifty for a blowie, a hundred if you want to fuck, sir.”
“I have two hundred bucks in my wallet. Also, can you always call me sir?” He runs his nose up my neck, breathing deep.
My hips rub slow circles against the bulge in his slacks. “Sir, two hundred gets you dinner later. Definitely a walk with my cat,” I say as he unsnaps my bra, then throws it over his head.
A minute later, his pants are off and he’s thrusting inside me.
My hands tangle in his hair as emotion ripples over me. “I love you,” I gasp out.
He presses his forehead against mine. “My beauty. We’re gonna have the world.”
Chapter 29
RONAN
“You need more butter, Tuck. Southern women use a lot of butter, dear. It’s why those city girls are so skinny. They don’t get enough fat in their diet,” Lois explains as he stirs potatoes in a big bowl. He’s wearing one of Nova’s aprons, just like I am. His has pumpkins on it; mine has squirrels eating acorns.
Lois then goes into a spiel about how he needs to work on his running game.
It’s Thanksgiving at Nova’s. I’ve already called my mom and sisters and checked in with them. Hopefully, I’ll see them after we’ve finished the playoff games for state.
Nova stops chopping celery to peer inside Tuck’s bowl. She sticks her finger inside, then puts it in her mouth. She holds back a gag. “Did you put milk in it? No wonder it’s hard to stir!”
Tuck flashes a grin, then jogs to the fridge and grabs the milk. “Oops. Guess I should read this recipe better.”
Nova puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t be a slacker, Tuck.”
“Where’s that jelly recipe?” Lois asks as she flips the pages of the sacred cookbook.
Nova scoffs and curls her lips. “I took it out and locked it up, Lois. I’ll be making Mama’s jelly this year for the fair.”
Lois hisses. “You wouldn’t.”
Nova grins. “I might.”
Sabine comes in from the den, a serious expression on her face as she contemplates Tuck’s form in the art of mashing potatoes. She walks around him carefully. “I thought NFL players were strong. The potatoes are chunky. I like my potatoes smooth.” She looks at Nova. “What’s wrong with him? Why isn’t he using the mixer?”