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“Okay, let’s call the suits back and tell them we’re in.”
Archer opens the door, and once again the room is filled with corporate types, not athletes or massage therapists.
The Sharks lawyer and the lawyer from Archer’s agency says, “The contracts Talynn and Tackett sign today are exploratory in nature. If we find anything that would embarrass the Sharks or you personally, you will have the option of backing out. However, Megan, the contract you are signing agrees to an eight-episode deal with ESPN with the content to be determined. If Talynn and Tackett back out, then both parties will meet to discuss alternatives.
Our penmanship needs some work. Tackett’s looks like a doctor’s signature and mine is boring.
I have to speed out of there for work, so I give Tackett a quick kiss and promise to massage his aching back and legs when he gets home from the game that he isn’t playing in. He’s been a little grumpy, but I know just how to make him happy.
* * *
When he comes in, I have candles lit all around his room. He has less stuff so I thought his room would be less of a fire hazard.
“I’m in your room!” I call out.
“Is something burning?” he teases as he sheds his bag and hat by the door.
“Just me.” I’m lying on the floor in a tent built from his mattress, like the night of the hurricane. I bought a little s’more maker that has these little poles so it’s just like you’re roasting them outside. “I thought we should celebrate your birthday.”
He falls to his knees in front of me. “My birthday’s two weeks away.”
“Okay then, we’ll celebrate the show.”
“Yeah, the show.” Stretching out on his back, he places his head in my lap. I stroke his hair and listen to his mini moans. It’s one of the things that relaxes him—other than sex. The more I play with his hair the heavier his lids become. I let him catnap for a while before waking him up so we can get in a bed.
“Hey.” I shake him gently. “Let’s go to bed.”
“No, you did all of this for me—for us, and I want to eat s’mores with my girl.”
We spent the rest of the night talking about other reality shows and how ours is going to be drama free, which doesn’t sound like a show I would watch. Our first sexual experiences came up in conversation and since ours were vastly different, I left outa lotof details.
It takes ten minutes for the s’more to get soft, but when it does, I pull it off and piece the s’more together in its proper layers. Something flips inside of me, like a flopping fish. They must be the biggest butterflies in the universe, but I keep them down.
I put the s’more in his mouth and inhale a breath so deep it hurts. He’s smiling as he chews, and he looks so cute with the strand of chocolate covered marshmallow strewn across his cheek and chin—a genuine, lickable spiderweb.
I hadn’t planned on it happening this way, but I lean in and lick his cheek, then his chin. I move up and lock my gaze on the eyes that twinkle with positivity, shine like the star he is, and dance with mischief meant only for me.
The moment is riddled with emotion as a film blurs my vision, hiding the view of his baby blues. I stall by kissing him because I don’t know how to not just blurt it out.
“Baby, whatever it takes. Never be afraid to tell me anything.”
I close my eyes and summon the bravery to say three words that I’ve never said to a boy or a man. I am so utterly in love. “I love you, Tackett Towles.”
His eyes widen and that hard, chest rises.
Say something.
Anything. Just don’t leave me hanging.
The corners of his mouth tugs toward a smile but stutter before his thumb lands on my lip, slowly tracing it. Then, with his pools of blue etched on mine, he says, “I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long. Bit by bit you stole my heart.”
Passions soar.
Libidos wake.
Love blooms.
ChapterTwenty-One
