Sweet Satisfaction

I grinned. “Yep. This is the so-called off-season. I don’t go on tour again until next summer .”

He took a sip of bourbon and I couldn’t look away as he swallowed. The tight muscles of his throat moved with each swallow. He licked his lips, and I was dying to see what they would taste like coated in the thick liquor .

Luke grabbed the empty glass from my hand, startling me from my obsession with his lips. “Want to tell me what a good girl like you is doing here ?”

His glass was empty too and his hands were free to move to my hips. I froze as he coasted his hands to my ass and dragged me against his body. He was solid and firm. He was a wall of muscle on top of muscle .

“Who said I was a good girl?” I looked into his green eyes. There was mischief there. Playfulness. And a hunger that said he might fucking devour me on the spot .

“Everyone says that.” He cupped my ass, gripping tighter .

“And you? Are you really a bad boy? Or is that just a way to keep your love-hate relationship with the press hot and heavy?” I teased .

I saw the seriousness in his eyes. The intensity as he zeroed in on me. “Everything you’ve heard is true. It’s not an act. I live my life wide-open. No regrets. You should know that .”

“Interesting philosophy .”

“And what’s yours? Love and peace?” he taunted. “Good always triumphs ?”

“That’s my image, yes.” I didn’t know why it seemed so important to strip all of that away. I wanted him to see me bare. “But I believe it too. I believe in kindness in people. Love. All of that .”

“I can tell that about you.” His brow furrowed .

I tiptoed away from him, still feeling the indentations on my ass where his fingers had been. I walked around the room, observing Luke’s collection of pictures and football memorabilia .

“You can? How?” I wanted to know. I wanted him to tell me how he had come to the conclusion that I was the same good girl everyone else saw .

He sat on the edge of the sofa. “The way you sing .”

I forgot the picture of him with his arm wrapped around another guy in a uniform and looked at him. “Really? One concert and you know that ?”

He shrugged. “Maybe not. But I felt it. I doubt people say that when they see me perform .”

He had my interest. “So the game is a performance? It’s all a show ?”

“The game is my life.” His voice hardened. “But I know the fans go to see a show. They want the same thing your fans want. They want to feel somethi

ng. They want to feel the thrill of winning. They want to feel like they’re a part of something bigger than they are. Why else do people love football so much? Everyone’s a damn expert. Men who have never picked up a ball suddenly know what call I should have made last week.” He paused. “Everyone thinks they know the sport better. And it brings people together. They unite against us. They unite to support us. It makes them feel like they belong .”

My eyebrows rose. “And you think that’s the same as me singing on stage ?”

“I saw it tonight. I saw how people responded to you. They want a piece of you. Even that manager of yours. They want to be a part of something bigger—your life—your music—your victories .”

I turned again to the bookcase. Everything on these shelves was related to football. Luke had summed it up .

“My wins are wins for my team.” I picked up frame. “If I have a number one hit then everyone has that hit. The writers, the musicians, the marketing staff, the roadies. It’s exactly like that. And the fans.” I spun on my heels. “The fans feel the win too. Because they know they gave it to me. They made me. They paid for that number one song, so somehow I belong to them .”

Luke was looking at me. I didn’t know him well enough to know what he was thinking, only that we had threaded football and country music together with undeniable lines of heavy cord .

“What do you want fans to think of you when they see you perform?” I asked .

“They’ve already made up their minds about me. Doesn’t matter.” He refilled his glass .

“And you’re okay with that ?”

“Are you okay with belonging to your fans?” He turned the question back on me .

“Who is this?” I held up the picture, trying to change the subject. I hadn’t come here to feel trapped. I came here to be freed. Freed the way a man like Luke could release me .