I undo the apron around my waist, close the distance between me and my woman, and pin her arms behind her back. “Like he wanted to tie an apron around her wrists.”
She shoots me a dirty grin. “Tie that around mine. Then maybe spank me and fuck me in your kitchen?”
“We have just enough time while the pie bakes,” I say, and I do as she asked while the pie rises.
In the morning, Katie leaves after we enjoy the shower together, and a text pings on my phone an hour later.
Katie:All went well! Lacey is good with a replacement and the pie was a hit.
Harlan:I’m going to tell the team today I’m retiring. Can you come back then?
Katie:Honestly, I’m pretty happy with this solution. There are many other clients I can work for, and this way, everything is neat and tied up.
Harlan:Tied up. Sounds like what I’ll do to you next time I see you.
Katie:And that’s another reason! If I were to go back to the Renegades, I’d be the teacher who their Hall-of-Famer receiver ties up at night.
Harlan:I’ll tie you up in the morning, too, if that makes you feel better.
Katie:I’m game. And I’m good with how it all shook out. Every single thing.
Harlan:Me too, sweetheart. But what about your sister and that guy?
Katie:I need to get her alone to discover those details. But she does have that just-been-fucked glow on her face.
Harlan:Like sister, like sister.
Chapter 38
Katie
Fifty thousand fans stomp their feet.
They chant the team’s name.
I’m like a Kermit the Frog nail-biting GIF, a nervous wreck, staring at the game clock. I can’t take my eyes off it. “C’mon, Renegades,” I shout. “Put some numbers up.”
My dad pats my shoulder. “Bet your guy scores.”
“I don’t care who scores from the Renegades. I just want them to win,” I say desperately.
“We all do,” Dad says. “Have faith.”
But faith doesn’t win football games. Talent and timing and skill do. The score is still tied with hardly any time left.
With tension threading through every muscle, I perch on the edge of my seat as the Renegades get in the huddle with only a minute left in regulation.
“C’mon, my daughter’s boyfriend,” my dad shouts amidst the din of voices. I cast him a glance, roll my eyes.
“What? No one can hear me over the crowd.”
“And I don’t care if they do,” I say.
“Go, go, go!” he cries.
When Cooper takes the snap seconds later, Harlan shoots off down the field, going long. Holy smokes. He runs like the wind as Cooper cocks his arm, takes aim, and hurls the ball downfield.
I hold my breath as it arcs twenty, thirty, forty, fifty yards.
