Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Can we make out? Please say yes.”
Declan laughs, brings our joined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Sure.”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“Trust me. I’m very excited.” Declan does sound happy, but like he’s trying to contain it.
I pull over, cut the engine. The bridge looms nearby, lights flickering. But we’re alone in the car. It’s all road and hills from here on out—no more jogging path.
“What’s going on? You’ve got me all nervous and excited. What’s the deal with the Sports Network story? Why are you here early?” I ask, questions spilling out in a wild rush. “Were you traded to LA? To Seattle? Either would be amazing.”
With a grin he can’t seem to rein in, Declan nods toward the bridge. “This is where I was when I found out I’d been drafted. I went out for a run, since I didn’t think I would go in the first round. But that’s what happened. I was here when I got the call I’d been picked by the Cougars,” he says, his voice sliding into a storyteller tone as he tells me about his younger years.
“Right here?” I ask, picturing Declan at twenty, phone in hand as he ran. “Bet you were listening to Nirvana, Pearl Jam, or Guns N’ Roses.”
“Pearl Jam. ‘Jeremy,’” he says, squeezing my hand harder.
“That’s so you,” I say.
“I was really happy to get that call.”
“Of course you were. A dream come true,” I say, knowing the feeling, having had the same experience. “I was in Petaluma at my grandparents’ when I got the call.”
“Fitting. For both of us,” he says, then draws a big breath, his brown eyes twinkling with secrets he’s about to share.
“And now?” I ask because I’m damn ready for him to crack them open.
“I’m happier now. So much happier. Want to know why?”
“Um. Yeah,” I say drily, anticipation winding tighter under my skin. “I believe we established that when you showed up at the art gallery twenty-four hours early. I’m dying to know.”
Declan takes a moment, then says, “I’m coming to San Francisco.”
What?
My smile evaporates.
Did he quit? Oh hell.
Or wait. Was he traded to my team?
No, please say no.
“Did you quit?” My pitch rises in alarm.
“No—”
“Oh, fuck,” I moan, dragging a hand down my face. “You better not be a Cougar again. Please tell me we’re not teammates. I don’t want any more drama. I just want you.”
I sink into my seat, eyes closed, talking back to my overactive brain. It’s fine. We’ll manage. We can handle it. But all things considered, I’d rather he didn’t play for the same team.
“Grant,” Declan says, reaching for my face, holding my cheeks. I open my eyes. “I was traded to your rivals. To the Dragons.” He bursts out into laughter—joyous, buoyant laughter. “I’m playing in the same town. For the other team. It’s fucking perfect.”
His words tumble out so fast that I can barely process the enormous awesomeness of what he’s saying. I part my lips, but I just shudder out a breath, and he keeps going. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? Please tell me it’s perfect to you too. Please.”
His desperation unlocks my own. I can’t let him think I’m anything but happier than I’ve ever been in my life.
I lift my hand, cover his on my face, and look into his eyes. With my heart soaring, I tell him it’s perfect. But I don’t use those words. I use other ones.
“I love you. I love you so much, Declan Steele. You’re the love of my life. I am so in love with you,” I say, my heart surging with joy, my skin tingling with so much happiness.
Declan drops his lips to mine, whispering, “I’m so wildly in love with you.”
Then he pulls back, meeting my gaze. His is etched with vulnerability. “I’ve been dying to tell you, ever since that night at your house. I want to say it every time I talk to you. I want to tell you all the time, Grant. I love you so damn much. I love everything about you. I want you and I love you and I don’t want to be without you.”
“You won’t be. I promise.” I haul him in for a kiss. A deep, beautiful, soul-shattering kiss. A kiss that seals all these confessions. A kiss that says I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. I’ll only be yours.
He kisses me back the exact same way—like we were meant to kiss by the Golden Gate Bridge under the night sky, the ocean crashing along the shore, Declan and I finally in the same place at the same time.
At last . . . at the right time.
When we break the kiss, we’re both grinning, touching, laughing. “Is this real? Are you really here? When do you start? I can’t believe you’re the enemy,” I say, amazed, and overjoyed.