Page 113 of Renegade Rift
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
FORD
The clubhouse is electric.
Because of this win, we’re on the longest winning streak we’ve had this season. Not that any of us will mention it out loud, superstitious fucks that we are.
That doesn’t mean we aren’t celebrating the shit out of it.
We are.
But as much as I want to hang around and drink with the guys, I’ve got a deal to collect on.
Showering quickly, I change and hope Juliet was able to make it down to the clubhouse with the other wives and girlfriends.
Smitty slides up next to me and shoves my shoulder. “They don’t have you on media after that catch?
“Nope.” I pop the p at the end. “I convinced Carson to handle it since Juliet’s here tonight.”
And thank God that man loves to talk because it means I won’t get caught in the hallway by any lingering publications wanting to ask me something I don’t want to answer—like who I was pointing at after that final catch. The way her eyes on me had made the win that much sweeter. Or the way my dick has been half hard ever since because of a promise I fully intend to cash in on.
“Sooo, you aren’t coming out with us to celebrate then,” Smitty teases. “You could bring Etta.”
“Not a chance in hell.”As much as I’d enjoy teaching her the ins and outs of going to a club on a date, the last thing I want is to share her right now.
“Fine.” He pretends to pout. “But we still good to work throughout the break?”
As much as I want to say no, and that I’ll be spending the entirety of All-Star break with my head buried between Juliet’s thighs, I reluctantly nod. “I’ll be here.”
“And you’ll be at the hearing.”
My gut flips at the thought of Mercer’s hearing and the apology I owe him. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Smitty says with an annoyingly knowing smile. “Then go get your girl.”
* * *
It’s no surprise that I’m one of the first guys out of the clubhouse. What is surprising is the number of people I have to weave through to find Juliet.
This is the first time I’ve ever had a woman meet me at the clubhouse. Usually if I invited someone to the game or planned on picking up a cleat chaser, I’d tell them to meet me in the parking lot. This feels different. The fact the wives and girlfriends let her into the suite is a rite of passage—like I’m joining the elite group of serious relationships.
I weave my way through the various staff and family members waiting for players to exit the clubhouse until it thins out.
And then I see her.
Leaning up against a concrete wall, she’s got her leg propped up, and she’s looking down at her phone. I take a minute and appreciate the sight of her in my T-shirt. She has it tied up at her hip just above where her shorts accentuate her long tan legs and make me want to kiss every exposed inch.
And she’s here for me.
“Juliet,” I call out, and she immediately greets me with a radiant smile that leaves me struck stupid.
She slides her phone into herback pocket and starts toward me.
But it’s not fast enough.
I take off in a jog and as soon as I reach her, I pull her to my body, both arms wrapping around her shoulders. “You’re here.”
She nods against me, arms snaking around my waist. “Of course, I am.”
