Page 86 of Filthy Player
“Guarantee you right now, Paige, there’s nowhere else, no other time when you’ll ever be safer.”
It didn’t feel safe. It felt like standing on the edge of a bridge, staring down into stormy waters that were your doom.
But I’d opened the door. So with both feet, I jumped.
“I love you, B—”
It was all I got out before he stole the rest of his name from my breath with his mouth slamming down onto mine.
CHAPTER THIRTY
PAIGE
“What do you think of these flowers?” Shannon asked. She pointed to a photograph of a bouquet of beautiful and elegant white roses.
We were at a floral shop looking for flowers for her wedding. While she and Powell weren’t getting married until spring when the season was done, Shannon was in full-planning mode.
“Aren’t you getting married out at his farm?”
“Ranch.”
Tomato, to-mah-to. When I learned Oliver Powell lived in a small house in the middle of nowhere with horses, you could have knocked me over with a feather.
“But it’s in the spring, right, and small?”
“Yeah. Roses might be too formal.”
I agreed. We flipped through the books the florist had provided and finally my finger landed on a beautiful spread. “What about these?”
Shannon looked to where I pointed and gasped. “Ooh.”
“These large alliums are gorgeous. If you do the alliums and a mixture of the roses or these lilies that could be really pretty, but still not so fancy.”
She turned to me and grinned. “You and the other bridesmaid could carry the large alliums, and I could do the mixed bouquet.”
Yeah, she’d asked me to a bridesmaid.
That made me get drunk. Beaux and I weren’t just a pair, Shannon swept me into her family and included me in everything.
In the last two weeks, Shannon, Oliver, Beaux, and I had gotten together for a few more dinners. I’d stopped in repeatedly to Stamped, and she’d come to my house one night when the guys were in Detroit playing an away game against the Lions. That night, Jillian Rudolph, wife to another Rough Rider, Danny Rudolph, had joined her as well.
It’d seemed surreal. We watched an NFL game, in my childhood living room home, on a smaller than average flat screen television while my dad, who was now in a walking boot and flying through physical therapy, shouted at every play.
I was friends with people in the NFL. I was dating the best quarterback in the league.
And every time I met someone on the team, I was floored with how normal they were.
The season was half-over and they hadn’t lost once. Every week, the hype over another Super Bowl appearance grew louder, and the louder the chatter, the more serious Beaux became.
It was sexy as hell. His intensity and focus and undying devotion to not only his job but his absolute love of the game, made me fall in love with him more and more every day.
I was in love with Beaux Hale. Beaux Hale was in love with me. I still couldn’t even think the thoughts without blushing like a pre-teen with her first crush, but that’s essentially what Beaux was to me…my first real love.
Today, Beaux had flown up to New York for an interview with some sportscaster named Curt Banner. He was coming home immediately afterward, arriving after midnight, and then early Saturday morning he was flying out again for a game in Tennessee.
Shannon and I were shopping for flowers and then heading to Ride’Em Rough for dinner and to watch Beaux’s interview live. I hadn’t been back since I called Paulie and told him I wouldn’t be returning at all, and after he spewed off a small handful of half-meant insults, I’d felt like crap for not going in to at least see Hannah.
But in truth, I hardly went anywhere. Jaxon was my new shadow, usually following me everywhere I went, and sometimes it felt more like a hassle to go out than it did to stay in. I hadn’t heard anything else about more photos. Nothing creepy, like a dead bird on my porch, had shown up. But there were days when Jaxon went more alert and Beaux hovered like a mama bird, and I knew they’d received more threats.
