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I wore my little honey out and had to force myself to let her get some sleep.
I try to locate any semblance of guilt for what I’ve done but I can’t find any. Call it fate or whatever, but I know in my gut we were meant to be.
I stopped fighting it downstairs in the hallway the moment she lost her fear, dropped her hands and showed me her beautiful tits.
Not that I fought it for very long.
Goldie Fletcher is pure and beautiful as her father is ruthless and corrupt. A part of me feels he deserves everything that’s coming to him, including having his princess taken from him, which I fully intend to do.
A part of me regrets that Goldie might be caught in the crossfire.
Not if I can help it, I vow silently, before I respond to her question. “You want to know why I came to see your dad?”
She nods, her soft cheek sliding against my shoulder where she’s pulled tight against me because I can’t bear to have any distance between our bodies.
It’s been three long years since I held warm body close, and Goldie is an unexpected feast to a starving man like me.
“What did you mean when you said he wouldn’t want things to get out?” she asks.
I purse my lips, my gut churning at the personal confession I need to make. “There’s something I need to tell you, honey. Best if I start from the beginning.”
She tenses and I grip her tighter, as if I can make her stay. As if I can make myself the clean, wholesome human being she deserves, not the untamed felon who’s desperate to hang onto her.
Christ, if she despises me because I have a criminal record, I’m fucking done. But I don’t intend to walk away without a hell of a fight.
I swallow, rustle around for the words to make this more palatable. But the harsh truth stares me in the face. “I’m a felon,” I blurt eventually when flowery words fail to form.
Confusion clouds her face. “I…what?”
“I’m a felon, Goldie. An ex-con, a criminal in the eyes of the law. An offender—”
Her fingers brush my lips to stop the bitter flow. “I…I know what a felon is. But I’m…why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have made a difference?” I say, then shut my eyes. “Stupid question. Of course it does. That’s why I didn’t say anything, honey. Not after I barged in here like a fucking hurricane.”
She still looks nervous. Her eyes wide and blinking. “Did you think I would judge you badly if I knew?”
My bark of laughter grates my throat and she flinches. “Don’t you?”
Hurt films her eyes. “I don’t go around judging people, Brock. Not without the facts. So tell me the facts.”
The weight of what could happen in the next few minutes scares the shit out of me. But I leave her side for a minute to grab my jeans from the floor.
I pluck the ring out of the front pocket before I slide back into bed with her. That she tucks herself back into my arms immediately should gratify me, but my chest is tight when I show her the ring. “You know what this is?”
She frowns at the huge black and silver ring. “No. But it looks familiar.”
I smile. When she asked me my name yesterday I braced myself for the inevitable squealing and gushing I usually get from women when they realized who I was. I was relieved when that didn’t happen.
It’s almost refreshing how Goldie knows next to nothing about the NFL.
I’ve had more than enough of chicks boning up on stats just to get close to players. Ten times out of ten it’s superficial and I got tired of that kind of fakery long before I hit retirement at thirty-four.
Now at thirty-seven, I need it even less.
“It’s an NFL championship ring, given to the victors when we win. This is my fourth and last one.”
“Oh right. Of course. I recognize it now.” She smiles to take the sting out of her ignorance and I almost kiss her because it’s adorable.
