Page 158 of Pucking Daddy

Pickup

“Jax?” I whisper, my voice barely steady.

He looks at me, something deep and certain in his eyes. “We got it.”

The words hit me all at once. Like something unlocking inside my chest. Like everything that’s been tight and heavy and waiting finally… letting go.

And then I’m moving. I don’t even think about it—I just cross the space between us in two quick steps and throw my arms around him.

He catches me instantly, like he was already bracing for it, his arms wrapping around me just as tightly.

“We did it,” I say into his chest, my voice breaking a little despite myself.

“We did,” he murmurs.

His hand slides up my back, steady, grounding, holding me there like he’s not letting go anytime soon.

We won.

I pull back just enough to look at him, my heart still racing, my eyes burning a little.

He reaches for the wine, pressing my glass back into my hand before lifting his own.

“To us,” he says.

Something in my chest swells so big it almost hurts.

My fingers brush his as I lift my glass, still smiling like I’ve completely lost control of my face.

“To us,” I echo.

We clink glasses.

I take a sip, the wine warm and unfamiliar on my tongue, and then I let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking my head.

“I think… I think this is the best day of my life,” I admit.

He watches me, smiling just as wide.

“Let me see if I can make it even better,” he says, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs into his bedroom.

We’ve kissed so often now, but each one has been different. This one feels like everything that stood between us—doubt, pressure, fear—is finally gone.

There’s nothing in our way anymore.

His hands tremble slightly as he pulls me closer, and I feel that tremor all the way through my chest.

This man—this steady, unshakeable coach who commands respect from a whole locker room of athletes—is shaking.

“Zara,” he breathes against my mouth. “I don’t know how I deserve this much happiness.”

I answer by pressing up on my toes, slanting my lips over his again, deeper this time.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I taste the wine he had earlier—just a sip, enough to warm him—and underneath that, something purely Jaxon.

Something I haven’t stopped craving since our first night together.

His fingers find the hem of my sweater, and he stills.