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She swept up her packages, then climbed the stairs to her room. She felt happier and more confident than she’d felt in weeks—despite the dubious purchase in the large shoe box. No good could come from it.
“Hey, stud.” Marilyn had to repeat herself before she caught Warrick’s attention Saturday evening as he walked into Vom Two, the tunnel to the visiting team’s locker room.
Warrick did a double take when he saw her posed on the top of the nearby staircase. “Mary?”
The heat in his eyes as they traveled from her thigh-high black boots, over her figure-hugging black minidress to her curled, teased, and sprayed-to-death hair almost made her forget her name. As it was, she struggled to remember the words to Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta’s Grease duet, “You’re the One That I Want.” It was a song she’d been singing since her teens.
Finally, the words returned to her and she began her amateur performance. Marilyn gripped the handrail for balance as she descended the steps in the four-inch heels of her boots. With each unsure step, her voice shook, carrying her farther off key. She’d been right. No good could come from the purchase of these outrageous boots. But Warrick’s reaction made it worthwhile. His expression eased from stunned to confused to amused.
Marilyn ignored the flashing lights and buzzing cameras she’d known would follow Warrick from the parking lot. Instead, she focused on her husband as she wobbled her way to him—physically and vocally.
She’d reached the chorus where she insisted he was the one she wanted. Barely an arm’s length from him, Marilyn stumbled in the high, thin heels and fell against his chest. Warrick caught her to him before he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
It took him a while to catch his breath. Warrick rested his forehead against hers and whispered her name. “Mary?”
“Yes, Rick?” Beneath her fingertips, his muscles still shook with laughter; muscles she looked forward to exploring later.
“That was the worst Olivia Newton-John impersonation I’ve ever heard.”
Marilyn grinned. “I suppose it was.”
Warrick lifted his head. “What are you doing here? You’ve never traveled to an away game before.”
“I came to wish you luck.”
Warrick smiled. “Why would I need luck? You already guaranteed Monarchs fans the championship title during your press conference Friday.”
Marilyn’s cheeks warmed. “You saw that?”
He pulled her even closer and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “You were great.”
Marilyn cupped his cheek with her hand. “I know how important this title is for you. I want you to get it this season. But if you don’t, there’s always next season or the season after that.”
He grinned. “Let’s take it one season at a time.”
His midnight eyes darkened as he lowered his head to cover her mouth with his. Marilyn forgot the cameras. Apparently, so did Warrick. As his lips pressed against hers, Marilyn’s blood rushed through her veins. Her toes curled in her thigh-high boots. She’d been too long without his kisses. His taste, his touch, his scent transported her to their own private island. Marilyn pressed her fingertips into his muscled shoulders and tried to move closer to him.
“Get a room!”
She blinked as Warrick lifted his head. Marilyn looked around in time to see Jamal Ward toss back his head and laugh as he walked past them and the busy cameras. She stepped back—and lost her balance in her heels.
Warrick’s arms shot out. He caught her around her waist and held her tightly. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” She grinned up at him. “Another benefit of being married to a professional athlete. His cat-like reflexes.”
His smile chased away his frown. “May I kiss you again?” His voice was low and smooth, seeping into her skin.
She raised her head. “As long as we keep our clothes on.”
He drew her closer. This kiss was soft and warm. The buzzing went crazy as the cameras caught their embrace. Too soon, they drew apart, slowly, reluctantly.
Warrick cleared his throat. “I’ll see you after the game.”
“You’ll see me before that if you look into the visiting owner’s suite. Jackie invited the Monarchs Wives Club to watch the game with her.”
He nodded toward her boots. “Are you sure you can walk in those things?”
“Of course.” She turned to leave. After three steps, she wobbled again. “I’m all right.” She waved over her shoulder, then continued more slowly.
