“I hope we didn’t mess with your rituals too much,” Scar remarks.
“Not at all. We just won, and I happened to score, so that means everything I did today will now become part of my home game routine,” I announce, winking at her.
Scar’s brows rise briefly before she gives me a wicked smirk. “I’ll be sure to clear my game day schedule.”
“Alright you two, it’s time to head out,” her grandmother cuts in.
Gunner gives me another squeeze before I set him down, and Gemma surprises me by giving me a brief side hug.
“Have a good night and be good. Love you both,” Scar tells them as she gives Gunner a big hug and Gemma gives her an even briefer hug than she gave me.
I wonder what that’s all about.
Once the kids have exited the locker room with their grandparents, Scarlett turns to me and I ask, “Are you ready for this?”
“Not in the slightest,” she replies as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Well, the quicker we can get this over with, the sooner we can head to my condo,” I point out, tossing my arm around her shoulders.
“Is that so? What gave you the impression that you earned my company for the evening?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Besides the fact that we won”—I pause, leaning down to whisper in her ear as we walk—“I believe I also had a goal, an assist, and blocked five shots, two of which left gnarly bruises that you’re going to have to come over later and rub.”
“So this is what I signed up for? Don’t we employ a very qualified massage therapist around here?” she tosses back, giving me a playful hip check.
“See, with that personality and wit, you’re sure to charm the pants off these reporters. Come on, Little Red, I’ve got plans for you later,” I tell her as I fist the hem of my jersey around her hips and yank her into my chest.
Scarlett was a natural with the press, which should’ve come as no surprise. She charmed the room with every eloquent answer, looking like a pro and causing my chest to swell with pride.
I’m walking down the hallway toward the players’ entrance when Scarlett’s laughter echoes off the walls.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she tells me, shaking her head. “You can afford the ring of my dreams no problem, yet you willingly walk around withthatslung over your shoulder?”
I mock gasp. “Ah, don’t talk about my Duffy that way.”
“Your what? You named your dilapidated duffle bag?”
“You bet your sweet ass I did, Red. Duffy’s been such a good girl to me over the years—she’s stuck by my side and carried me through good games and bad,” I explain.
Scarlett’s bark of laughter rings through the cavernous space, and I’m dying to hear more. “And suddenly, I’m jealous of a duffle bag. She’s been agood girl, huh?”
“Sucha good girl . . . but you’re not jealous of me sharing my praise, are you baby girl?”
I think I hear her faintly whimper at my use of her nickname I typically reserve for the bedroom, so I decide to test my luck and see if I can push her a bit further. Eliminating the remaining distance between us, I back her up until she’s pressed against the concrete wall, sliding my bag off my shoulder before grabbing hers out of her hand and placing them on the ground.
My fingers drift up her thigh until I’m met by the hem of my jersey which I fist in my hand again.
“Bennett,” my full name leaves her lips on a gasp that sounds more like a prayer, and I realize in this moment I’ve never wanted to see a woman on her knees for me more than I do right now.
“Yes, Scarlett?”
“Take me back to your place—now,” she demands.
“Patience, baby girl,” I preach to her.
“You’ve tested my patience enough tonight.”
Without another word, I bend down to pick up our bags before hurling Scarlett over my shoulder. Her shrieks echo through the parkinggarage and that only urges me on as I grip her ass and squeeze with my hand that’s holding her over my shoulder.
