Chapter 11 Delaney #2
Being a football fan isn’t new. Growing up in a bar, I’ve seen my share of games.
I’ve even seen a few in this suite. Lexie and I made our way back down to Ashton and Kaleigh before the national anthem.
But my heart has never threatened to beat out of my chest before the way it is now.
Today, as the players jog onto the field to line up and the crowd absolutely erupts, I realize I’m standing, cheering, my heart thudding wildly in my chest .
. . Because out there, on that field, is the man who saved my life.
The one I’m going to marry. The one who, if I’m really honest with myself, has become a tiny little bright spot in my life.
Even if he’s not so tiny.
Not even a little.
He looks like a giant down there.
Helmet on. Muscles stretching his jersey.
Focused. Dangerous. Untouchable.
And somehow mine.
My fingers curl around the railing. The ring catches on the stadium lights, blinding and brilliant and so real.
“Holy shit, Laney,” Kaleigh cheers beside me. “That’s your fiancé down there.”
“Yeah,” I swallow. “It is.”
And like he knows, I swear Ryker glances up and looks right at me.
Across the field and the chaos, the noise fades, and the world narrows until it’s just him.
Just us.
Just for a moment.
Frozen, only we’re not. The world is still spinning. The game starts, and I suck in a breath with Ryker’s very first hit, and I’m not sure when I finally exhale.
Every play feels like it’s happening inside my chest instead of on the field.
Every hit.
Every tackle.
Every run.
He’s amazing.
“Sit,” Ashton says for the millionth time by the end of the fourth quarter, tugging me back down into the suite chair. The nervous energy feels too much to handle. I swear I don’t know how she and Lexie do this each week.
“I am sitting,” I snap, already halfway back up when Ryker tackles Buffalo’s receiver. Because I can’t not watch. Can’t not track him. Watching as he moves like he owns the field. Like he was made for this. Nothing can touch him. Not today anyway.
I know the game is made up of four fifteen-minute quarters, but, honest to God, I think those four quarters just took four damn years off my life. The stadium erupts when the time ticks down, and the Kings quarterback takes a knee to end the game.
Everyone around me explodes.
Cheering. Screaming. Hugging.
And I’m just . . . still.
Because with his helmet in hand, Ryker Beneventi is looking up at me.
Again.
Ryker
Tori greets me at the door when I finally get home after the game. No one was up for the post-game celebration the team typically has at West End. Not after last week and what happened to Delaney. Or what I did to Roger Dennings.
The locker room was different tonight.
The excitement was still there, but a cloud hung over it.
The reporters’ questions kept coming back to Delaney and Dennings and me.
The team shut down and closed ranks. No one answered that shit. But it didn’t stop them from asking. And my anger grew with every fucking question.
But it’s like the stress of that shit peels away as I punch the code in the security pad by the door and lock it behind me. “Where’s Lane, Tori?”
The little pink pig has grown on me. I’m pretty sure she’s not going to eat me at this point.
It probably helps that I’ve bribed her with her favorite cookies, but hey, it had to be done.
She head-butts my leg and nudges her stuffed pig my way, staring until I toss the thing so she can go get it.
And yes, I’m now playing fetch with a pig after playing football on a national field, with a ten-million-dollar contract. This is my life.
“Lane.” She doesn’t come out, so I make my way into the bedroom, looking for her, but she’s not there either.
I shrug out of my suit coat and hang it in the closet, then turn around and watch in slow motion as a very wet, nearly naked Delaney screams so loudly I’d probably hear it without my hearing aids in.
She’s wrapped in a tiny towel. Her hair on top of her head in a bun. And so much warm pink skin on display, I nearly swallow my damn tongue. Fuck me. This woman is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Jesus, Ryker, you scared me,” she pants, then recovers and signs the words, like I didn’t understand them the first time. Only the movement slides her towel down another inch. Just enough for the swell of her breasts to tease me.
Look away, Beneventi.
This woman is going to be your wife.
You have to sleep next to her tonight. You cannot perv on her.
But goddamn. My wife. Our bed. Yeah. Not helping.
“I’m just gonna . . .” I point behind me toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.”
She nods, and I force my eyes away from her chest.
The one rising and falling with each heavy breath.
One flick of my fingers and that towel would fall to the floor.
One flick, and I’d be on my knees worshipping at her fucking altar.
Damn . . .
Did I just shower at the stadium? Yes.
Do I care now? Not at all.
Not when I need to get out of this small space and get some much-needed distance from my soon-to-be wife.
Without a backward glance and thankfully, without tripping over Tori who’s circling my legs, I shut myself in the bathroom and turn the water on. The bathroom still smells like Delaney and her apple-scented body wash and shampoo. Crisp and clean and so fucking sexy.
Yup. I’m screwed.
So fucking screwed.
I crank the heat and step under the spray, knowing she was just in here, and try not to picture her naked, standing right here. Lathering soap all over her soft skin.
Fuck me. That’s exactly what I’m picturing.
That’s what I’m seeing when I take myself in my hand.
Bambi. Without that tiny towel. Skin pink. Breathing heavy. Bare beneath the spray.
Did she think of me?
Did she touch herself?
Touch her soft skin the way I would touch her?
Did she gasp? Did she shake the way I want to make her shake?
Scream the way I want to make her scream?
I stroke my cock, slow and hard, imagining her taste on my tongue.
The feel of her beneath me. Above me. Coming undone.
My muscles tighten, and I groan, gripping my cock harder.
Closing my eyes.
Getting lost in my wife.
And when I open them again, they lock on the fantasy.
Golden eyes staring back at me.
Her mouth open in shock.
Only she’s not my imagination.
She’s real. And she’s right in front of me.
Watching.
As I come with her name on my lips.