Page 63 of Bad Run

Lance turns on me. “I heard your friend say you’re getting married.”

“It’s not like that.” I sigh.

“Then what’s it like?” Lance crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for me to explain. Something about the way his eyes plead with me to clarify sends my stomach spiraling.

I throw myself into the chair and exhale a loud breath. “Do you remember the stipulations of the will?”

“Yes,” he says, offended that I’d think he’d forget. “Your father won’t promote you unless you’re …”

The moment Lance figures it out, his eyes widen in shock, and his jaw hits the floor.

“Married,” I say, finishing his sentence. “You overheard Jenna trying to convince me to marry one of our close friends, on a temporary basis, to fool my father. It’s not happening, okay? I don’t want the marketing position that badly.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I want the job that badly. Not only do I want it, but I want to own it. Prove to my father that I was the right person all along and that he never should have doubted me.

I can feel Lance staring as if his eyes are fingertips brushing across my skin. When I finally look him in the eye, there’s no hint of what he’s thinking. His face is a mask of indifference.

The silent seconds pass slowly as he stares down at me. I’d give anything to know what he is thinking.

“Marry me,” Lance blurts, breaking the silence.

Okay, I never would have guessed that’s what he was thinking.

“What?” He can’t be serious.

But he is.

Lance kneels beside the chair I’m sitting on and turns it until I’m facing him.

“Marry me,” he repeats.

Again, it’s a demand, not a question.

“Lance, you can’t be serious.”

He grips my knees, spreads my legs open, and pulls my chair closer, situating his body between my thighs. “I am serious. Marry me.”

The saliva in my mouth dries up as he runs his thumbs over my inner thighs in a soothing caress. “You sound crazier than my best friend.”

“Apparently, crazy is my middle name,” he says with a wide, toothy grin.

I’ve never seen this smile before. Not even when he was celebrating with his teammates after winning the World Series. He’s practically beaming at me. Ready to bounce off the walls with delight.

“Then I have to be the smart one and protect you. You could hurt your standing with the team. My father could fire you. And it’s against the rules to date employees.”

“Wrong. There is no rule that states people in the front office can’t date players. Your boss dated and married a player during her tenure, and neither of them was fired.”

“Maryse isn’t a Montgomery,” I remind him.

“True. But I can handle it. So, marry me, get your dream job, and then we’ll figure out the rest.”

Figure out the rest? What the hell is he talking about?

He places his large hands on my cheeks, cupping my face. His touch is gentle, reverent. “Let me help you, Gwen. Will you marry me?”

Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice, or the memory of our night together. But some unknown entity wraps itself around my body like a silk rope, soft and comforting, and calms me.

The soothing sensation has me uttering, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”