CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Hardy
T he sun rises, but I’ve been up for hours.
Whitney’s head is resting on my chest, her thigh is draped over mine, and all I keep thinking about is how the bloody hell did we get here?
How did Ari set out to repair my image, and in turn, end up fixing my life? I had thought it was already pretty fucking fantastic to begin with.
I replay last night over and over. The surprise of finding her at my door. The argument that, let’s face it, was just for show. She came here—to me—and that said more than any words could.
But she said them. She told me. And I believe her.
My mobile phone vibrates on the nightstand yet again. I’ve ignored it thus far, but I’m beginning to think something is wrong. I press a kiss to Whitney’s head and then slowly slide out from beneath her.
The way she tightens her grip on my arm in her sleep as I leave her warmth makes me know just how right this is. I pad out of the room and shut the door at my back as I enter the main portion of the suite. Our clothes strewn everywhere is a poignant reminder of how incredible last night was.
But it’s the name on my mobile that has me rolling my shoulders.
“Mum. Should I worry by the number of times you’ve called me this morning that something is wrong?” I ask as I step out onto the balcony so I don’t wake Whitney.
“No. Of course nothing is wrong.” She laughs shrilly.
“So you’re just calling because ...?” There’s always a reason.
“Because I have the best news, darling. We’ll be in Atlanta for your match. Just let us know where we can pick up our tickets. Preferably a box seat or suite.”
Atlanta. It’s the final game where we’re set to clinch the title. That means a high-clout, big visibility game. Of course, they’ll be there for that.
Not because of me. I’d never assume that. But simply because they can say they were.
“Are you there, Alexander?”
I stand looking at the city coming to life beyond my balcony window and do something I never thought I’d do.
I lie to her. But not about the usual—that it doesn’t bother me that she can’t make whatever it is she promised me this time—but about something else.
My smile is freeing. My words even more so. “I’m so sorry, Mum, but no, I can’t get you tickets.”
She laughs shrilly. “That’s funny. You’re the ambassador to the league. They’ll give you anything you want.”
“Not this time,” I lie. “The game is sold out. I have no pull on this.”
Silence permeates the line. I can almost hear the disappointment in her quiet. I’ll be letting her and dear ol’ Monty down. Tough fucking shit.
“I don’t understand,” she sputters out.
“There’s always ticket scalper sites.”
“The tickets that we find suitable are going in excess of four thousand a seat.”
“Good thing Monty is well-heeled.” Enough to put me in a prestigious boarding school. “I’m sure he can manage.”
“Alexander. This isn’t funny—”
“Sorry, Mum, but I have to go. Team meeting.”
When I end the call with her stilted protest in the background, I realize how damn good that felt.
I move back to the bedroom, to the woman I’m drawn to, and study her lying in my hotel bed. Her thick hair fans across the pillow and her tanned skin stands out against the white of the sheets. How I love her smart mouth and gorgeous smile, but most of all that incredible heart and brilliant mind.
She’s a perfect match for me. A challenge I didn’t expect. A battle I never intended to fight.
I won the girl. Now I have to figure out how to keep her ... against all odds and interference.
I think I’ve put a good game in play here, but this is hardheaded, big-hearted Whitney Barnes we’re talking about.
Yes, I’ll be going home in the coming month.
I can only hope she’ll be receptive to what I have in mind.
Then again, nothing has been easy when it comes to her.
Why would I expect this to be?