Lyric and Lingerie (Fort Worth Wranglers 1)

“No, why would you want to call me?” She didn’t get it.

He loved her, but even if he told her right now, she wouldn’t believe him. He’d created that doubt in her ... he’d made her feel like she wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to kick his own ass.

“Any time I had good news or bad, I wanted to share it with you. You were the person I’d run to, and suddenly you weren’t there.” He wasn’t saying this right. “Do you think we can ever get that back?”

He felt like his life hung in the balance. Forget the coaching job—she was the life he wanted, but he didn’t know if she still wanted one with him.

“We’re not children anymore.” She dropped her eyes but still held his hands. “I want to believe you so badly, and it’s not that I think you’re a liar, it’s more that I don’t trust what we have now is real. We’re not really engaged, and I think you’re confusing the giant wedding cake fairy tale with reality. I’m not saying that we can’t go back to the way things were, I’m only saying that we’re different people now, and maybe we should get to know each other for the people we are today versus the people that we remember.”

“That’s fair.” It still hurt. She wasn’t willing to take a leap of faith and love him again. He guessed one leap of faith per relationship was all she had in her. Maybe it was time he went out on a limb. “I know you so well. You use facts to self-sooth. You like to order pickles on your hamburger but then take them off because you like the essence of pickle but not actually the pickle. You have a soft spot for romantic comedies but don’t let yourself see them because you believe that thinking with your heart makes you weak. You prefer nonfiction to fiction, with the exception of Harry Potter. People think you have your head in the clouds, but you sometimes don’t pay attention because your mind runs circles around everyone else’s. You never belittle those around you for their inferior intellect, and you honestly want them to understand everything the way you do. Learning how things work is what makes you tick. You like chocolate ice cream, movie theater popcorn, and Reese’s Pieces.” He smiled. “You love expensive lingerie and wear only the best—a cause I admire and fully support. You love rainbows but hate thunderstorms, have a fondness for daisies, and dislike carnations, and you loved me and I destroyed that.”

He waited and waited and waited for her to say something. The silence was a snake coiling itself around his throat and choking the life out of him.

“Your favorite color is royal blue, you like peanut butter and chocolate-hazelnut sandwiches with the crusts cut off, your sense of fair play has gotten you into trouble a time or two, you hate indecision, you were always shocked and grateful when I remembered your birthday.” Lyric opened her mouth to say more and then closed it. “I don’t know anything about you that isn’t something from our childhood. I should know more.” She looked like she was opening her mental notebook to start taking notes on his every move.

“No, you shouldn’t. Your mind is too busy pondering the mysteries of the universe.” He knew he was right, but it hurt. She’d loved him and then forgotten him while he still remembered everything about her.

“I know all of your favorite foods.” She pointed to last night’s grocery sack.

That was something.

“I remember that you usually face things head-on, which is odd because you avoided talking about football like the plague.” Her face screwed up in concentration. “See, I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

“I’m still the same boy inside.” He wanted her to love him as much as he loved her.

She sucked on her bottom lip and looked like she was weighing the pros and cons of something in her head. Slowly, she leaned over and kissed him. It wasn’t for show. This was the first kiss Lyric had given him because she wanted to. That had to mean something.

* * *

Chapter 26

* * *

Three days later, Heath was deep into his plot to make Lyric understand how much he loved her. On the day of their tree house talk, he’d borrowed Bowman’s old truck and taken her out to Dairy Queen. After, they’d fogged up the windows as they’d parked by the river. It was something he should have done with her in high school.

On the day after, he’d given her a six-foot-tall glass heart filled with two hundred and sixty pounds—his body weight—of Hershey’s Kisses. She’d loved them so much and had felt that she needed to do something for him, so she’d given him a list of her online passwords.

He liked to think that in Lyric-land, that was meaningful.

And just this morning, he’d had a brand-new telescope delivered to her along with twelve dozen roses—a dozen for every year they’d been apart.

She’d nominated him to be her post mortem Facebook page manager. Romance in Lyric’s world left a lot to be desired.

It wasn’t the perfect courtship—what with Bowman still in the hospital—but it was pretty damn close in his opinion. Then again, anything that gave him a chance to touch and kiss and just be with Lyric was perfect to him.

Which was why he was feeling so damn annoyed right about now. Especially since he was currently at the mercy of one of ESPN’s production assistants, a short little brunette who was insisting on running her hands all over his chest and back to place a simple microphone. He knew she was taking advantage of the situation—he’d worn a lot of mics

in his day. But if she was trying to garner some interest from him, she was out of luck. He wasn’t interested.

How could he be when he had Lyric? She was the smartest, sexiest woman in the world, and he was damn lucky to have her. Now that they were finally together, there was no way he was going to mess it up because some production assistant wanted a shot at his Super Bowl rings.

If he’d had his druthers, he wouldn’t even be doing this stupid interview with ESPN. Instead, he’d be back in bed with Lyric, exploring all the parts of her body he hadn’t yet gotten to. Or, to be more accurate, that he hadn’t gotten to for a fifth or sixth or seventh time.

But business was business, and Dalton thought it was an excellent idea to parade his new offensive line coach (and ex-quarterback) in front of the media ASAP. And what better place to start than ESPN’s SportsCenter? If you’ve got it, flaunt it, after all.

Special lights on poles surrounded the sofa as did half a dozen people with headsets, cups of coffee, and very important looks on their faces. Shelby Margate, anchor for SportsCenter, sat on the large dark-brown sectional in the Wrights’ living room, watching in amusement as Heath got felt up.

They should have done the interview at his house—he’d feel more comfortable telling this girl to back off if he was in his own place. But he hadn’t wanted to give the crazies a roadmap to an empty house that he just happened to own, so the Wright house had seemed a solid second choice. Especially since it had always felt more like home than his own ever had.