Page 93 of Tiger Lilies and Tight Ends

Tyler: This I need to hear.

Sully: . . . Whispers . . . handbook

Ryder: No, you don’t. And trust me when I say Alice and I wanted no part of this.

Dylan: Alice. Pretty name for a pretty girl.

Ryder: Stop talking about her.

Rico: Feisty and sus.

Ryder:

Dylan: I don’t know. Seems there might be a story there.

Ryder: The only story applicable to any of you is that we know each other from a past life. We hate each other, and we’re being forced to work together. So drop it.

Dylan: Applicable. The plot thickens.

Ryder: No, it doesn’t. Fuck right off with that noise.

Bryan: To be continued.

Chapter 42

Lily

This past weekend was a dream come true.

I don’t even know how to describe the feeling other than to say I feel like I’m floating.

The book signing was the most amazing professional experience of my life. Julia from the bookstore and the readers have posted so many pictures and reels, add in the release of Love on the Lake, which instantly became a best seller, Tyler flying to New York, and him scoring in the game yesterday, I can’t think of one thing that would make this more perfect.

Except maybe some donuts this morning, but neither of us had time to go to the store.

“You know, I’ve never asked you this, but how do you like your eggs?” Tyler asks me while glancing over his shoulder at me.

After we got in last night, it was late by the time Tyler rolled from being on the team plane. We both collapsed in his big bed, wrapped ourselves around each other, and I slept better than I have in what feels like weeks.

“I’m really not that picky. Some days, I like them scrambled. Other days, I like them runny on toast. Beggars can’t be choosers, I’m just grateful you make them at all.” I toss him a smile while biting on my bottom lip to tease him, and his eyes darken as he scans me from head to toe. I’m wearing one of his Tarpons T-shirts, nothing else, and he knows it.

Giving him a wink, I move about the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot and pull out bananas, strawberries, and protein powder to make us smoothies as well. Tyler has to be at the practice facility in a couple of hours, and I need to get to work and start responding to social media posts. Happy posts, exciting posts, posts that make my heart so full.

Side by side, we make breakfast in silence, that is except for the blender. It’s the good kind of silence too, the kind where there’s that deep feeling of contentment that says, “This is where I belong,” and without a doubt, I do.

Climbing up onto the island, I sip my drink as he plates our food. His back is to me. He’s not wearing a shirt, just a pair of athletic shorts, and I blatantly admire how broad and strong he looks. His back is smooth, and it perfectly narrows to his waist, where he has two dimples sitting there just begging to be touched.

Mine.

All mine.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, catching me ogling his backside.

“Perfection,” I tell him, and he laughs. All of the muscles in his body are relaxed and this is the most at ease I’ve seen him in a long time. He’s happy, and I’m happy that I get to play a role in this.

He picks up our plates and sets them on the counter next to me. Today, he made us scrambled eggs with Swiss and spinach. The blue light of the tank glows on his legs and feet.

“Have I ever told you that the blue-and-yellow fish you have in the tank is my favorite?”