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Bex fights a smile. “You had sex with some random girl who didn’t even know your name just because she wanted to?”
“There’s not much to understand,” Drake says. “That’s pretty much how it goes.”
“Right,” Bex mutters. “You guys are such whores. I forget Preston used to be like you.”
I laugh, pulling her back against my chest, and kiss her forehead. “I still am, babe.”
She sighs. “Yeah, but you’re my whore.”
The room erupts into laughter.
“I love you,” I whisper so only she can hear.
Bex smiles and mouths, “I love you, too.”
Epilogue
Bex
Three months later
This moment is surreal. I sit across the conference table from Preston—right next to his mom, who is also my new boss. Coach offered me an internship at her firm, DMG, right after I graduated from Strickland University. I have six months of shadowing Preston’s mom before I can speak to clients alone. But at least it’s a start.
Preston clutches the pen in his hand, peeking up from the contract his mom negotiated with the Penguins. He smiles at me, a smile so wide it reaches up to his eyes. We have an unspoken bond, one that doesn’t require us to exchange words. His eyes tell me he loves me. That he’s glad I’m here with him on the biggest day of his life.
I smile back, motioning with my head for him to sign the damn contract. He’s been staring at it for so long, as if he can’t believe it’s real.
As part of the deal, Preston has to be on his best behavior, obviously. After the fight with Kellan, the Penguins’ General Manager was concerned he had behavioral issues. But the GM wasn’t going to allow one incident to get in the way. Like my dad, he knew a star when he saw one. Preston plays like his dad—maybe even better. They would have been fools not to want him.
Preston’s contract was my first foray into the sports world. And if all goes well, it won’t be my last.
“Go on, honey,” Coach says to Preston. “Sign it.”
His dad sits next to him, a ridiculous grin on his face. He’s so proud of Preston it oozes from him, filling the air with his love.
“This is the first of many.” His dad slaps him on the back. “Wait until the big money starts rolling in.”
Preston has never cared about the money. It was always about the notoriety and living up to the Parker name. That’s all he’s ever wanted. To make his parents proud of him. And he has.
As Preston signs the contract, I can’t stop smiling. Everything’s worked out for him in the end. The guilt I felt for so long over his suspension gutted me. I hated seeing him in pain, unable to play with his team.
Preston drops the pen on the table and slides the papers in front of his mom. She glances at them, making sure he didn’t miss a spot.
JP walks into the room. He stands in the doorway, looking like a million bucks in a three-thousand-dollar suit. He’s delicious, an older version of Preston. The men in the Parker family are seriously hot as puck.
“Is it official?” JP asks Preston. “Is my little brother now sleeping with the enemy?”
Preston laughs. “Yeah. I signed my life away for less than a million bucks.”
I laugh, because Preston has a hell of a lot more money than that in his trust fund. Rookie contracts are small, nothing like what the more established players make.
“You’ll get there,” JP says. “It just takes time and numbers. Keep your nose clean and your head in the game, and you’ll be pulling in seven figures in no time.”
“You just want the commission,” Preston jokes.
JP shrugs. “I’m a selfish bastard. What can I say?”
Preston smirks. “That you are, brother.”
JP angles his body to stop a woman passing by in the hallway. She’s a tall blonde with a toned, athletic body. Her short skirt reveals her muscular legs.
“Hey, baby girl, think you can get me a coffee?” JP removes a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket. “Run down to Starbucks—”
“John Michael Parker,” Coach yells. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He gives his mom the cutest little boy smile that Preston has also perfected when he’s in trouble.
Coach points at the woman. “You don’t recognize her?”
JP studies the woman’s body, his eyes eventually landing on her face. He likes what he sees, that much is evident in the way he appraises her. “Did we, you know, have sex?”
I laugh so hard I snort. Because the more I look at her, I realize she’s not some woman from the secretarial pool, and her skirt is way too sporty for work. She’s Andrea Banks, one of the best tennis players in the world.
“She won the US Open, you idiot.” Coach shakes her head. “Andrea, I’ll be with you shortly. I’m so sorry about my son.”
