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How the fuck had I missed that?
Probably because she always seemed huge, larger than life. Untouchable and unstoppable.
Except when I’d held her in my arms as she’d cried.
Except…when I’d looked up at her face, the taste of her still on my tongue, the proof of her desire, her orgasm drying on my beard, and stared into her wide blue eyes.
Cobalt then, though not from fury.
Pleasure.
Warmed through by pleasure I’d given her from my mouth, my lips, my tongue.
Her brows lifted, and I realized I hadn’t answered her question. Hadn’t really heard it, honestly. I was trying to figure out the puzzle of this woman who I watched weathering a flurry of questions on a national morning show and then had sat on this trailer’s steps, carefully sticking some glittery tape shit to the top of a page. And dotted a bulleted list of items she clearly meant to tackle with bright pink butterfly stickers.
Pink butterflies and gold glitter.
Sonot Billie Rose.
Except…it was.
Because there wasn’t anyone else out here sticking on butterflies and rolling out glitter tape.
Just Billie Rose.
I filed it away, another piece of that puzzle.
“The roster is good,” I told her, winding back through my mind, focusing on what she’d asked. “Though I have the feeling our entire first line won’t be around for long.” She blinked, tilted her head. “They’re solid. Smart. Strong. Well-developed game. They’ll be up on the Gold in no time, space on their lineup permitting.”
The Gold were solid.
The Gold had just won a Cup.
Some guys had retired, so there were a few spaces open, but a team that had won the biggest prize there was to win didn’t play smart by shaking things up, at least not in a major way. A few players would have their chance, but I suspected that the Gold’s roster wasn’t going to be dramatically different this season.
“Right,” she murmured, and I didn’t miss the gentle way she ran a finger over the plastic disc things that were holding her planner together, as though it were a pet she was stroking. “Well, that’s good for the Gold to have a lot of returning players. Though not as good for you guys to have less opportunity to play there.”
I shrugged. “It is what it is.” Then I took advantage of the way her body had relaxed slightly against mine. “What time do you go home, Rosie?”
She jerked, gaze darting to mine.
Cobalt.
Warm gold sparks.
Not pleasure. Not fury.
Something else. Something deeper.
Then her eyes slid away, and the pieces clicked. The aversion. Why she wouldn’t answer. What it meant and how it fit in with the other puzzle pieces I knew of her.
That hit, collided through my mind, and the next moment I was on my feet, yanking open the trailer door, moving inside, my big ass feet stomping down the narrow hallway.
Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.
Two rows of doors closed—and I tried one—locked. Presumably all of them locked.
Except one…whose door was open, and light was spilling out into a cone on the linoleum floor.
