Page 80 of Well Aware

She snickered. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do next.”

Agreed. “Black’s on his way over, and Apollo is flying in now.”

“Do you think we can stay with you for the time being?” she asked, leaning back to sit up straight, forcing my cock, which still hadn’t abated, to sit deeper inside of her.

Despite my body’s insistent need to continue what we’d just started and finished, I forced myself to ignore it because this was important.

“You’re more than welcome to move in with me,” I said. “Permanently.”

Her lips parted.

“We’ve been playing a game for eight months, sweetheart. I don’t want you farther away than a room so I can hear you if you need me. Move in. Permanently. Then let your friend move into your place.”

Her lips curved up softly at each side. “That would actually work really well. Are you sure, though? Iris isn’t like most kids, but she’s still a kid. She makes messes, has tantrums…”

I caught Magnolia by the face. “Noli, baby. I promise you. I know that you’re a package deal. I know that Iris likes to get moody in the afternoon before dinner. I know that you get crabby yourself when you’re hungry. I know that each of you aren’t morning people. Trust me, I know what I’m getting into. And I want it. I want all the things when it comes to the two of you.”

Her shoulders slumped. “This could get messy.”

I grinned. “Messy’s my middle name.”

TWENTY

Paint whatever picture of me you want, just don’t forget to add the glitter.

—Magnolia’s secret thoughts

MAGNOLIA

The final game of my career—unless we made it to playoffs—was upon us, and I was nervous.

We had what, the head referee said, was the best lineup of officials.

Everyone on each team, as well as support staff, had been spoken with about rough play beforehand, and everyone was ready to go.

I was the only one who was injured, thankfully. Everyone else looked healthy and ready to kick butt.

“You’re sure you can play in that cast?” Coach asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“It’s just a fracture,” Nettie joked.

“Just a wee, tiny one,” I agreed.

Normally, the doctors wouldn’t want me playing after literally just having surgery to repair my arm.

However, these were extenuating circumstances.

This was the final game—maybe.

The one that would decide if we were in the finals or not.

Because, thankfully, everything had gone according to plan. Who needed to lose, lost. Who needed to win, won. Who needed to score fewer points scored fewer points. And we won despite all the odds being stacked against us.

Not only had I never been in a championship game before, but I’d also never been to the finals, period. This game would decide whether we went to the finals or not. Whether the championship was even in sight.

I didn’t want to end my professional soccer career on a bad note, so yes, I’d begged my doctor to clear me to play.