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“I don’t know.”
“Would you stick with Colette James or maybe look for a different job? Don’t get me wrong—you’re fucking amazing at what you do.” He kissed me. “Next time we have a sleepover, I’ll sneak you into my building so we can break in that new bed.”
I stifled a laugh. “Promise not to make fun of me?”
Tatum raised a thick eyebrow. “No promises. If you say you’re gonna stop dancing for the Reds and become the mascot instead, I might have to make fun of you. At least once.”
Choking down an unladylike snort-laugh, I shook my head. “I won’t be dressing up like a cock.” Taking a breath, I said, “I think I’d like to flip houses.”
He looked surprised, but not appalled, so I continued.
“Not like fast flips with shoddy work and shiplapped everything. I think I’d like to restore old houses or ones that are about to fall into disrepair. I’d have to hire a contractor for things I can’t tackle myself. Besides, I hate dealing with permit offices. I’d let them handle those. You remember how I told you that story about how my parents met?”
Tatum nodded.
“My dad was on the maintenance crew for the stadium my whole life. He can fix or build pretty much anything. Growing up, he taught me everything that an expensive architecture degree didn’t.”
He laughed. “Which is why I found you hanging lights in my kitchen and giving my fake fireplace a stone façade.”
I poked his chest. “Exactly. It drives Colette crazy. Designers design, Wren. Leave the heavy lifting for the subcontractors.” Tatum didn’t know it, but my posh impression was spot-on. “There’s an old house on the coast outside Westerly that I’ve been drooling over forever. It’s big and Victorian with tight staircases and hidden rooms.”
“You’ve toured the property?”
I laughed. “I don’t know if it counts as a tour if I just let myself in because the front door’s missing. I’m pretty sure I was just trespassing.”
He frowned. “You could have hurt yourself. You could have been bit by a snake or a spider or gotten tetanus from a rusty nail. You could’ve fallen through a staircase.”
“Haven’t you heard?” I asked, tipping my chin to meet his eyeline. “Haven’t you heard? Birds don’t fall. They fly.”
Tatum’s nose bumped against mine. “Is that why you haven’t fallen, and I have?”
I shook my head and tapped into the courage that Preston and his seersucker shorts had tried to steal from me. “I fell the day I met you. Now, you’re helping me find my wings again.”
“No fear,” Tatum said as he dipped in for a kiss. “Just flying.”
Under the covers, I found his hand and hooked my slim pinky finger around his much wider one. The same silent, discreet promise of support he’d given me at the TV studio in New York. “Nothing less than everything, right?” We could lose everything. And everything was the price of fighting for us.
He rested his chin on top of my head as the late hour caught up with us. Since Tatum planned to run—literally—back to his apartment before he had to be at the Reds’ facilities, he didn’t have much time on the clock to get some shuteye. “Is loving me worth the consequences?” he asked. “Losing your spot on the Reds.”
I didn’t want to consider that reality, but the thought had loomed over me since the moment Tatum and I collided. “What would you be doing if you didn’t have football?” I asked softly as sleep began to overtake me.
Tatum pulled me into his side and draped my arm across his stomach. I splayed my hand and grew substantially more serene as I felt his gentle breathing. He was such a giant, a beast on the field. But his gentle, steady presence was a foil to his domination on the gridiron.
“This,” he said softly. “This is what I would want if I didn’t have football.”
