“You could grow fond of me . . . just what I’ve always hoped my fiancé would tell me as he’s proposing,” I deadpan.
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, his sheepishness giving him a boyish look. “Look, if you want the truth, I didn’t see marriage and babies in the cards for me. It’s not that I am opposed to the idea, it’s just that I’ve only felt explosive chemistry with one person before, and it turns out I fucked that up pretty badly. And I didn’t have the best example set by my parents for a loving marriage. But I think we could be a good team, the two of us. I think we have a shot at making this work.”
My chest tightens as his words sink in and jealousy I have no right to feel takes over. “Honestly, hearing about your one that got away isn’t exactly what I want right now.”
“You did get away from me once, Scar. I’m not about to make the same mistake twice.”
I have to hold my abdomen to contain the riot of butterflies threatening to take flight from his words. I’m not sure what to make of them. “What are you insinuating?”
“I’m saying you knocked me on my ass six years ago and I’m going to do my best not to fuck up my second shot with you.”
Needing to shift the conversation from the sudden seriousness, I give him my best sass. “Don’t you mean your third shot with me? If I remember correctly, you didn’t even get my name the first night we met.”
“And look how the tides have turned. Not only did I get your name, but now you’ll have mine,” Bennett boasts, sending a playful wink my way. Goddamn. My fiancé is fine as hell when he’s flirting with me.
Fiancé. Bennett is my fiancé. This is sosurreal.
“Hey, Cap?”
“Yeah, Little Red?” he tosses back, stepping into my space and clouding my thoughts with his cologne that smells like my own personal brand of pheromones.
“This changes nothing between the two of us,” I tell him, my voice unsteady due to his sudden proximity.
“Wrong. This changes everything,” he assures me, rubbing his thumb over the ring he just placed on my finger. My traitorous heart squeezes and picks up speed at his words instead of taking them as the warning they are.
8
October
The team has just loaded onto the plane and we’re set to depart to Chicago any minute now, but we’re waiting on one passenger.
My fiancée.
Well, no one besides the two of us knows she’s my fiancée, but Scarlett is late and I’m beginning to question if it’s due to the perpetual tardiness she warned me about, or if something is wrong.
She told me she hadn’t been on a flight since her father’s accident, and now that I think better of it, I wonder if this oversight on her grandfather’s part was due to his progressing dementia. Surely he wouldn’t put her in this situation—flying for the first time since the accident with a plane full of her employees and coworkers—while knowing she’s been too terrified to travel for the past five years. And with our new arrangement, her stress is sure to be off the charts.
Since I proposed last week, I’ve continued Gemma’s guitar lessons and snuck in a few lunches with Scarlett either at her office or the lunch spot down the street from the arena she said she loves. I won’t lie, I thought things between us would be stiff and awkward, but I’ve never been happier to be wrong. Our conversations flow naturally, and I’m enjoying getting to know her more, which doesn’t happen for me much outside of my small friend group.
A few moments later there’s commotion at the front of the plane before a flash of copper catches my eye. I stand on instinct, my feet moving toward her before I know what I’m doing.
“Sit with me?” I ask as I approach her, surprising myself with my question.
“Oh, I don’t want to mess with your pregame routine,” she replies, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear with her left hand. I notice her ring finger is bare like it has been all week, but I don’t mention it . . . for now.
“You won’t. We don’t play until tomorrow. Follow me, I sit in the back.”
She worries her bottom lip and I fix my gaze on her mouth. “I should probably sit up front with the rest of management.”
“We’ve got much to discuss, boss. Come on.” I nod toward the back of the plane and move into an empty row so she can walk ahead of me down the aisle. When she huffs out a sigh of defeat, I internally fist pump in victory.
“Thought you’re not supposed to wear white after Labor Day,” I tease as I follow her down the aisle, taking in the white pencil skirt that clings like a second skin to her ass. She’s paired it with a black polka dot blouse beneath a matching white, fitted blazer. She looks incredible, and I have to fight back the urge to claim her in front of all my asshole teammates whose heads turn as we walk by them.
“You couldn’t last two minutes,” she points out, pulling my glare away from my teammates.
“If memory serves, I’m not sure what gave you that impression.” I don’t bother hiding my cocky smirk when her head whips around.
She scoffs, rolling her eyes in annoyance at my innuendo. “I meant you couldn’t even go two minutes without giving me shit forsomething. As for the other thing . . . my memory unfortunately doesn’t serve me that long ago.”
