Chapter 29
Maya didn”t pick up my call last night, and she didn”t respond to the video, either. All I got was a note that things got crazy, and we”d talk after today”s game. She added a smiley face for good measure.
She had to have seen the video because everybody and their dog had seen the video. It went mega viral, super quick, and fans went crazy for #Slaya.
But that was yesterday, and today, the guys and I jogged onto the field like we always did at the beginning of the game. The hit of excitement from the crowd as they all stomped their feet was a drug that couldn”t be replicated.
Our quarterback, Drake Wellington, handled the coin toss for us when the song we sang to Maya blared over the speakers of the stadium. They hadn”t used my version, which was good because Coach told me it was a good thing I could catch a ball since I had no future in music.
The stadium went even more wired, even more wild, and I scanned to see what they were so worked up about.
It didn”t take me but a second to see that Maya was on the Jumbotron, wearing my jersey with the number forty-one, a blue ZipZing in one hand, and a sign in the other that read:
In it to win it. Let”s go #Slaya
My breath stuck in my ribs.
She was in it with me.
Damn, I blew out the breath because I needed to keep my head where it belonged. But she was cheering like it was her full-time job, and I couldn”t tear my gaze away from the image of her.
She”s here.
She came to watch me win. So, dammit, I had a game to win.
”Are we writing love songs, or are we going to the goddamned playoffs?” Coach yelled from right beside me, right into my ear.
”Going to the goddamned playoffs,” I shouted back, letting the adrenaline of the moment take hold so I could do my job, see the team make the playoffs, and go home with my wife.
So, that was what I did. Or rather, I”d started by helping my team win the game. Then I got stuck in an interview room with a bunch of reporters asking a fuck-ton of questions.
”Question from The Denver Herald,” a reporter said, holding up his pen.
I nodded. ”Hit me.”
”We”ve all seen your team reel online,” the guy said.
I nodded.
The guy didn”t keep talking, so I asked, ”Did you have a question?”
”What was Ms. Mitchell”s response to the song?” he asked.
”Did you have a question about the game?” I asked, dodging the question because, well, I didn”t want to answer it. Not yet anyway. Not until I got the hell out of there and got to see her.
”Given the time you”ve spent apart, are you concerned about your relationship with Ms. Mitchell?” the reporter asked, keeping on the same track.
And wasn”t that just pounding the nail on the head and hitting my thumb with the hammer, all at the same time?
”I”m not here to talk about my personal life. I”m here to talk about the game.” I paused, and then I continued, saying straight into the microphone, ”A game we won.”
”I”m wondering, too,” a voice said from the back.
That voice I”d know anywhere. Maya was… right damn there in front of me, about halfway up the aisle. Right in the fucking middle of the swarm of reporters.
”The message on social media wasn”t for the world. It was for you,” I said. ”How, uh, did you like it?”
Damn, but my voice got gravelly, and my heart beat so hard, the mic probably picked it up and broadcast it across all the networks and into the world at large.
”You should keep playing football,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
Everyone in the room seemed to laugh, including me.
”And about the other?” a reporter shouted.
”I”m always concerned about the time I”m not with you, Maya,” I said, finally answering the reporter, but staring straight at my girl while I spoke. ”Always.”
”But when you love someone, you figure out a way to make it work, right?” Maya asked.
This was happening. Fucking happening right here, right now, in the middle of the press conference, and none of the public relations handlers were doing a damn thing to step in and give me a moment to catch my breath.
And that was the moment I realized I didn”t need to catch my breath anymore. Because I wasn”t holding it anymore.
That was the moment I started to breathe.
”When you love someone,” I said, holding her gaze to mine since I couldn”t jump over the table and hold her to me. ”Figuring it out is the fun part.”
The edges of her lips tilted up at the sides, and her eyes misted. And, you know what? Fuck it.
There wasn”t one rule that said I couldn”t jump over the damn table if it meant I”d get to my wife.
So, I did.
Vaulted right over the sonofabitch and moved straight to my Maya.
Maya, whose eyes had gotten huge about the time I”d slid my ass across the table and knocked off a few microphones in the process.
”What are you doing?” she asked, breathy as all hell and gorgeous as all fuck.
”I came to kiss my wife.”
The room stilled, some kind of universal pause button having been pushed about the time I decided to follow through on every single promise I”d ever made, and every single promise I”d ever make to this woman.
She sucked in a quick breath of air, which was good because she”d need it while I kissed the hell out of her. Right there in front of the media. In front of my teammates. In front of the entire fucking world.
Because, dammit, this was the fun part.
”You know,” I said, in her ear so only she could hear, ”I heard once that women like to have their respect served with a side of tongue. That still hold true?”
Maya nodded, unable to find words. Which wasn”t a problem, because with what I had planned, we wouldn”t need them.
”Sloan,” Elliott practically shouted my name, cutting through this fucking fabulous moment between Maya and me.
I turned, only because he”d always had my back and while his timing was shit, he”d never truly let me down.
”Hot mic,” he said, pointing to his lapel.
I glanced at the microphone clipped to my shirt and said, ”Fuck.”
”I think they heard about the respect served with a side of tongue,” Maya whispered. Which she didn”t need to do because my lapel microphone would pick it up no matter what her volume.
”I love you,” she said, not whispering. ”I love singing in stadiums, and I love my ZipZings, but I”m in love with you, Sloan Stevens, and there”s no way I”m doing life without you.”
”You think you”re still in love with the idea of being in love?” I asked, not even serious because I knew the answer already.
”I”m not in love with the idea of marriage or even getting married.” She smiled as she pressed her forehead to mine. ”Or being in love with being in love.” She held my gaze with hers as she said, ”I”m in love with you, Sloan Stevens. For better or for worse.”
”Mine,” I said, leaning in to pull her for a kiss.
She broke it only long enough to say, ”All yours. And you”re mine, too.”
Yes, yes, I was.
Instead of saying something smart or just saying nothing at all, I ripped the damn microphone off, pulled the wires free, and then I picked Maya up in my arms.
”Did you actually add product placement to your declaration of love for me?” I asked, chuckling.
”I figured it couldn”t hurt when you finally have that meeting with them.” She smiled against my mouth.
I carried her like we”d just gotten married, and there was a threshold or some shit like that—her arms around my neck and my grip holding her tight.
That was how we left the press conference.
Sure, there were lots of reporters shouting questions at us. But we didn”t stop to answer any of them, not when we had a moment together where I could respect the hell out of my wife.
My wife.
That would never get old.