EPILOGUE TWO
Whitney
“ I want that feeling. I want to be able to make someone feel how I felt when he used to look at me. It’s stupid and weird but I fear with my lifestyle, with the attention I’ve brought on myself, that I’ll never get the chance to feel that way or make someone else feel that way.”
Those words stuck with me that night as we played sexy foosball. The night that changed everything for us.
And those words sing in my head right now as Hardy moves toward me. His kit is covered in mud and grass stains. He has a smear of dirt on his cheek, and his hair is soaked in sweat.
But he remembers those words too. I can see it in the awe in his expression and the love in his eyes.
I hold my hands out. “Champions!”
He pulls me against him, gathers me in his arms, and just holds on with his face buried into my neck.
“You did it, Hardy. You finally did it.”
He nods, never lifting his face, pressing his lips to my skin there. “The jersey,” he murmurs.
“I thought it was important that your dad be represented here today too,” I say as he uses the cover of my hair to let go of the emotion overwhelming him.
He takes his time, gathering himself as photographers and media mill in our periphery, waiting for the chance to interview him.
But when he leans back, he doesn’t pay them any attention. Hardy only has eyes for me as he stares and shakes his head in disbelief at the moment and at dreams realized.
I reach out and frame his face. I’ve never felt pride like this before and briefly, I wonder if this is how Patrick felt watching me from the sidelines, proud at having a small part in something so transformative for someone else.
“You did it,” I whisper just above the fray.
He nods. The tears welling in his eyes mean everything to me. “We did it, Whitney. Together.”
I lean forward and press my lips to his. He tastes of salt and Gatorade and of the man I simply can’t get enough of. And believe me, over the past year, I’ve tried. I’m always left wanting more.
“It’s all because of you, Lucky Shot. Because you took a chance and dared to dream with me.”
I let the tears fall and smile through them. These damn emotions are stronger than I ever expected.
“So what’s next?” he asks.
“What do you mean, what’s next?” I sputter. “Can’t you just allow yourself to savor this moment?”
“I will. I am. Because of you, I can. But this dream has been achieved. Now we need a new one.”
He’s dead serious, but it’s the perfect segue into something I was going to wait to tell him. Something I never expected in a million years to want.
“I think I know what we can shift to,” I say.
He looks over his shoulder and holds up his finger for whoever just called his name to wait. “What’s that?” he asks, distracted and deservedly so.
I reach out, take his hand, and press it against my lower abdomen. His eyes shoot up to mine, and then his lips fall lax before spreading into the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.
“You’re serious?” he asks and I know without a doubt that I will remember the awe and reverence in his voice for as long as I live.
“I’m serious,” I murmur against his lips. “But I swear to God if you make a pun about how you’re a Lucky Shot ...”
He throws back his head and laughs seconds before he picks me up and spins me around. “No. No pun. No anything. Just this. Just us.” Another hard-pressed kiss to my lips as flashes ignite all around us. “I love you, Whitney Barnes. I’ll love you till forever and a day. I’ll love you until all the promises can’t be promised anymore. You ...” He sets me down, holds both my arms out and looks me up and down, his gaze stuttering over where our baby is growing before meeting my eyes again. “You are my fucking world. I can’t wait to dream even bigger with you.”
I gaze at the crazed stadium around me, Hardy, the newly crowned champion in front of me, and I’ve never felt more alive. More loved. And it’s all because of him.
Alexander Hardy.
The soccer— er football god.
The sex symbol.
The public figure.
And my absolute everything.
“Lucky for me you shanked that ball that day,” I say.
“It was the first and last time I’ll ever underestimate you, Lucky Shot.” He presses a searing kiss to my lips and laughs. “Best mistake I ever made.”
Did you enjoy Lucky Shot? One of my favorite romance subgenres to write is sports. I’ve covered numerous ones over the years: racing, football, soccer, baseball, tennis.
As always, THANK YOU for reading!