Chapter 30
THIRTY
FLIC
The jet hums beneath my feet as we level out, Kansas City already disappearing into the dark behind us.
Mad is curled up across two seats a few rows ahead, fast asleep, one red braid still clipped into her hair.
Mama is sitting at the back of the plane, phone pressed to her ear, calmly fielding calls from Chase and Jake’s sponsors about appearances, already pivoting into Super Bowl mode like this is just another day at the office.
Behind me, Donny and Helena sit close together, sharing a glass of wine.
Helena is laughing quietly at something Donny says.
Harper and Serena stayed behind in Kansas to celebrate with Jake and Chase.
I picture them with the rest of the team, somewhere loud and crowded and joyful, arms wrapped tightly around the men they love.
I turn back to the window, pressing my forehead lightly to the cool glass, the buzz of the win still humming in my veins.
The game was brutal. Scrappy. Balanced on a knife edge the entire way through.
We weren’t the better team out there. We were just lucky.
It could have tipped the other way on a breath.
One missed tackle, one dropped pass, and we’d have been out of the competition.
Instead, the Stormhawks are heading to New Orleans for the Super Bowl next Sunday. The thought sends a jolt through me all over again. I’ll be there to watch them play against the New York Steelguards for the biggest prize in football.
The seat beside me dips. I don’t need to look to know it’s Grayson. He slides close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the armrest. He passes me a glass of water without a word. Our fingers brush. I expect him to move away, but instead his thumb caresses the back of my hand.
The jolt is instant—a live wire snapping between us. “Careful,” I murmur. “You keep touching me like that and people are going to start talking.”
“Pretty sure they already are.”
I take a sip, then glance at him. “Did you enjoy the game?”
“I really did,” he replies. “The wide receiver—”
“Rob Jenkins,” I supply.
“—right. When he cut inside before their defense could take him out? That was…” He searches for the word. “Impressive.”
I laugh softly. “You’re starting to sound like a fan.”
He smiles like I’ve given him the best compliment. “I’m starting to feel like one. Especially if it means my balls are safe from your trophy wall.”
I laugh. “The staple gun comes in handy for a lot of things.”
His mouth curves into a playful smile. “So, you admit the thought crossed your mind.”
“Briefly,” I say sweetly. “Very briefly.”
Our eyes meet. Hold. The air between us feels charged with a promise of more. I’m suddenly desperate for this flight to land. The day has been perfect, but I have a feeling the night is going to be even better.
We’re silent for a moment. Then I whisper a quiet “Thank you.”
He brushes a strand of my hair away from my cheek, fingers grazing my skin. “For what?”
“For offering me this deal,” I reply. “I did it for my bar and for the Sullivans and for the fans, too. But I’m having the best time.”
His answer is immediate. “Me too.”
The words hang between us. I feel myself leaning toward him, wanting his warmth, his touch, the friction.
By the time we land, Mad is still asleep, a heavy weight warm in my arms as I carry her down the steps to Mama’s truck. She stirs a little, whispering a “thank you” as we buckle her in. Then Mama wraps me in a fierce hug, kissing my cheek. “Do you remember what Harry used to say?”
“Quit bothering Mama when she’s trying to cook?” I grin.
Mama laughs softly. “Well, yes, that, but also, don’t ever turn away from a chance for joy.
” Mama’s hand squeezes mine and she nods across the parking lot.
I follow her gaze to where Grayson stands by the open car, waiting for me.
I don’t know where Donny and Helena disappeared to.
I don’t care. I say a final goodbye to Mama and grin as I walk toward him, my pulse racing in a way that has nothing to do with the win and everything to do with this man.
Inside the car, Grayson’s hand moves casually to rest on my thigh.
He continues to look straight ahead, and without a word, his fingers walk higher, closer to my aching center.
Every brush of his fingers through the denim lights my body on fire.
I’m acutely aware of Hunter in the front seat.
I don’t care where he’s taking us. My place or Grayson’s hotel suite. As long as we get there fast.
I turn toward Grayson, a playful rebuke already on my lips about our onetime deal, knowing it’s going to land like a challenge even though I want this, too.
Then his phone buzzes.
“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from me. The air shifts instantly as he sees something on the screen. “I have to take this.”
My body feels cold without his touch on my thigh. I stare out the window as I hear only his side of another business call.
“What’s going on?” A pause. “And they’re doing this on a Sunday when the city council offices are closed?
” His tone is edged with restrained anger.
“We need to get this in front of a judge tonight.” Silence.
Then his tone sharpens again: “I’m well aware.
Get the whole team on this now. I’m going to make some calls. Be ready with paperwork in an hour.”
He ends the call and is already dialing again.
The heat drains from my belly, replaced by the ache of disappointment.
I don’t know what new emergency Grayson is fielding, but I do know he’s lost to it.
And I’m now pushed into the background. I grit my teeth, trying hard not to mind.
This is who Grayson is. He’s a man who wants to do good in the world.
Who feels the need to walk into every battle alone.
And I said I would never ask him to change.
“Hunter,” I say quietly, “would you mind dropping me at The Hay Barn, please?”
“Of course,” he replies.
Ten minutes later, Grayson shoots me a pleading look of apology as he talks to a judge’s clerk. I mouth, “It’s fine,” still pretending it is, and climb out.
I step into the bar to find Sonia cleaning up, the last stragglers on their way out. We catch up for a while, then I thank her and tell her to head home. She doesn’t argue, and I don’t blame her. I know how tiring a long game day shift can be.
When I’m alone in my bar, I close the shutters on the windows and flip stools onto tables, setting up for tomorrow’s floor clean. I think about Grayson and why we can’t work. His world is too big. Too crowded. There’s no space for me.
I get it. I’ve stayed single for years because anyone I met would’ve come second to the bar.
It’s the same for Grayson and his business interests.
However much it stings, I’m not surprised.
I knew his world would pull him away from me eventually.
I’d just hoped it wouldn’t happen till after the playoffs.
I look around my bar. It’s already spotless. Glasses gleaming behind the counter, fridges stocked, the money in the safe in the back. It’s proof that I don’t have to run this place alone, and maybe that’s why I’m conflicted right now.
Maybe it’s less to do with Grayson and more to do with me and my bar and my future.
Because however much I told Mama I couldn’t wait to get back to running the bar full-time, however much I’ve tried to convince myself that’s all I want, there’s a small, nagging voice that won’t shut up.
A voice that whispers how much I’ve enjoyed watching the games and joining Grayson in meetings.
A voice that’s asking what happens if this bar isn’t enough anymore.
I will always love The Hay Barn. I don’t want to give it up.
But I’m not sure I want it to be all I have, either.
I might not be a billionaire with a boardroom full of advisers, but I have a good head for business.
I’ve kept The Hay Barn alive through rent hikes and staffing shortages and years that would’ve broken a weaker person.
I understand people. I understand loyalty and optics and when to push and when to wait.
And being beside Grayson in meetings, watching him take my input seriously, I’m starting to realize I have more to give than I ever let myself believe.
With only a week left on my deal with Grayson, it’s getting harder to ignore everything that’s spinning in my head and what, if anything, I’m going to do about it at the end of the season.
I’m lost in my thoughts when the door opens.
I turn and see Grayson in the doorway. It’s only been an hour since I left him, but he looks exhausted, like he’s just come back from a fight he didn’t win.
“I’m sorry.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“There was an urgent issue with the East Harlem redevelopment project. A stop-work order came through tonight from the city council. We had everything cleared and scheduled for tomorrow morning with the utility companies. If I hadn’t fixed it, it would’ve meant hundreds of people without electricity or running water for a week. ”
“That’s awful,” I say immediately. “They can’t—”
“They can.” He sighs. “But it was a bullshit order, anyway. My team follow every regulation to the letter. I got the stop-work order in front of a judge half an hour ago and he threw it out.”
“Does this have anything to do with your father?”
He nods. “I think so. I’ve ignored his requests for a meeting over the last week. This was his way of reminding me not to continue ignoring him.”
I don’t know what to say. How much more can one man carry? And even though I know it’s stupid, there’s a part of me that longs to shoulder some of it for him.
“I’m sorry,” I say instead.
He shakes his head. “No. I am. That wasn’t how I wanted our evening to end.”
Something sparks between us. I bite my bottom lip. “How did you want it to end?”
His eyes darken as he closes the distance.
His hands reach to cup my face, fingers threading into my hair.
Then his lips press to mine, and instantly my knees are weak, my core on fire.
I feel the heat of him through my sweater, his fingers digging into my sides as he anchors me in place in his arms. He deepens the kiss, lips coaxing mine open, and my hands find their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.
His fingers are moving again, trailing up my sides. I gasp when his thumbs brush against the hard peaks of my nipples through the fabric of my sweater.
Then he breaks the kiss, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against mine. When he talks, his voice is rough. “I’ve thought about having you in my arms since the second you left them on Monday.”
I’m suddenly aware of how much space he’s taken up in my head these past few weeks.
How often I replay our conversations. The way he looks at me.
How much I want him. I haven’t forgotten all the reasons this is complicated, but I want him anyway.
Maybe this can’t be more than stolen moments like this.
Maybe it has an expiration date already written into it.
But right now, with his breath warm against my skin, I stop thinking about the end.
My hands slide up, wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. “What else did you think about?” I whisper.
His eyes are dark with want. “I’ve been thinking about how wet your panties are going to be the next time I slide my hand between your thighs.”
He leans in again, capturing my mouth in another heated kiss. This time, his hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of my hips, sliding up my back to tangle in my hair.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice is a low growl. He takes my hand and moves it to the hard length of his erection. I bite my lip as he groans. Fuck, I want him. “How wet are you, Flic?”
“Soaking,” I whisper, tightening my grip. “And it’s all for you.”
“Fuck.” He glances around, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“I want you now,” I say, almost breathless with how much I want this, too. “Don’t make me wait another second.”
Grayson nods, striding to the door and flipping the lock, before moving back and taking me in his arms, lifting me from the ground like I weigh nothing.
I gasp, my hands instinctively clutching his shoulders as he strides toward the pool table, his eyes locked on mine, and I can feel the heat radiating off him, searing into my skin.
He sets me down on the edge of the table, and before I can even think, his hands are on me, pulling at my sweater, yanking it over my head.
I fumble with his shirt, my fingers trembling as I undo the buttons, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
My bra goes next, tossed somewhere behind us.
We wriggle out of the rest of our clothes until I’m laughing, and naked, sitting on the edge of the table.
The laughter catches in my throat as he steps back, his eyes raking over me with an undeniable hunger.
His voice is low and rough as he rolls a condom on. “I feel like I need to point out that I’ve only been carrying protection with me since the weekend.”
“I’m glad you did,” I whisper. “Please, fuck me now.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He steps forward, his hands gripping my thighs as he positions himself at my opening.
I can feel him there, hot and hard, and my body tingles with anticipation, every nerve ending screaming for him.
He pauses, teasing me, as his head dips down and he catches my nipple in his mouth, sucking, teeth and tongue, making me cry out.
Then he’s pushing inside me, agonizingly slow as I stretch to take him. He hits a spot deep inside causing his name to leave my lips on a gasp. “Grayson.”
I grip the side of the table, legs hooked around him as he pulls out and drives in again, faster this time. Harder.
He growls my name. “Flic, you’re so tight. So perfect for me. I never want to stop fucking you.”
I’m already close to the edge when his hand slips between my legs, his fingers finding that sensitive spot, and I moan, arching into his touch, needing more.
Needing everything. He knows exactly how to drive me wild, his thumb circling me in time with his thrusts, and I feel myself unraveling, the pleasure building until it’s almost too much.
“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Please, don’t stop.”
A slow smirk spreads across his face as he responds by slowing down, drawing out my pleasure, keeping me teetering on the edge. His eyes lock with mine as I cry out. “I’m going to come.”
The tension coils tighter and tighter until it snaps. Another thrust, another circle of his thumb, and I’m unraveling. Liquid pleasure scalds through my core. I think I cry out again as my orgasm pulses and shudders through my body.
Fuck.
This man.
If this is what terrible decisions feel like, I’m going to need a minute before I start making good ones again.