“Or just accept their settlement as the Mavericks’ genuine apology. They fucked up. They thought Warner had cleared it with Dylan. I’ve spoken to Benz Christianson, and he honestly thought Emma was about to go after Dylan in the press andthe Mavericks needed to protect their player from harm. You’ll also receive a media package from Mackenzie Badley suggesting ways the Mavericks would like to promote the two of you individually and as a couple. Whether you want to, or not, is up to the two of you. Just tell me what you want with any appearance money.”
“Donate it,” Emma says, to my astonishment. “I’ll send you the names of two charities that work with orphans and children suffering from PTSD. I’ll take the apology money, but any appearance money should go to charity.”
“Same for me,” I say, looking at Squid. “No child should grow up grieving a parent, but those who do, deserve to have support.”
“I’ll try and convince Lloyd McMillan to match the donations as a sign of goodwill,” Hunt says. “Which brings me to the next piece of news. By the end of the day, Emma will receive an amended contract without the non-fraternization clause. All cheerleaders will receive updated contracts with salaries commensurate with their status as Mavericks’ media representatives.”
“More money?”
“Not enough to push you up a tax bracket, but enough to live on without a second job.” Hunt laughs, “And just to prove I know who’s paying me in six-minute increments, the Mavericks are coming to the table with a career-defining contract. Warner was holding out on some bullshit clauses but now that you are in a stable relationship, I’m assuming you don’t want to go on the dating show,Australian Love Storyas a follow-up to Dawson Briggs?”
“The only reality I want is to move in with my girlfriend and turn my penthouse into our home—complete with two almost-teens.”
“Then, I’d say congratulations,” Hunt says with a sigh. “Can’t say it hasn’t been one hell of a day, but the Mavericksare expecting to see you both at your respective trainings tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Emma and I say at the same time. When the call ends, the four of us stare, dumbfounded. Less than six hours ago, I woke in Emma’s bed, hoping to ease her into my life without her losing her job. Now?
“We did it?” Squid asks. “You and Emma are a couple?”
When I nod, Sage flings herself at me, followed by Emma. I wrap my spare arm around my brother, and no one judges whose tears are whose.
“Let me ring a friendly journalist who deserves to take photos of us packing our cars, and unpacking them at our new home,” I say when Squid decides the girls have spent their last night in their old apartment. “Danielle, this is Dylan Fleski … wondering if you want a scoop on the story that broke late last night about my girlfriend moving in with me … no, I’m not anyone’s favorite bachelor anymore. But, I hope I’m Emma Russell’s Mr. Perfect.”
Chapter 31
Walls Tumble Down
Emma
The stadium roars as Dylan sprints onto the field with the rest of his team through a wall of us cheerleaders. Only, he stops in front of me, turns to the crowd, and puts a hand to his ear. No one plays to the crowd like my man.
“Kiss … kiss … kiss,” comes the cheer, and Maverick, the club mascot, works them into a frenzy with his drum. My cheeksblush brighter than my lipstick as Skye elbows me and whispers, “just kiss him already or they’ll blame any dropped ball on you.”
“Wanna kiss me, fullback?” I bat my eyelashes and ignore the crowd. It’s just Dylan and me with Squid and Sage with a gaggle of friends down on the halfway line.
“Wanna do more than kiss me later?” He banters back, because this is our version of foreplay.
“Depends.” I jut out a hip. No, I don’t care if we are messing up the television coverage. They can throw to a commercial or six.
“On?”
“I’m still waiting on a good first date.”
“With dinner?”
“No raw chicken.” The girls around me groan their disgust, but I’ve never told the story, so they have no way of understanding our first date fail.
“With music?”
“Sounds good.”
“Can I walk you to your door?” He steps closer. “Can I kiss you goodnight in all the right places?”
“Dyl, keep looking at me like that and I’ll let you kiss me in all the wrong places.”
In front of three cameramen fighting to get the best shot, and forty-thousand people who have been lining up for hours to get into the ground, Dylan kisses me like he’s got all the time in the world. I try to use my pompoms as shields, but they’re taken out of my hands by one of my friends.
It’s Dylan’s hands on my face, his lips on mine, and a kiss that leaves my knees too weak to stand.
