Epilogue
“Rogue, I swear I won’t be able to walk today.” I laugh as he hooks a hand around my ankle and tugs me toward him.
He’s standing at the edge of the bed, gloriously naked, every single one of his muscles on display. He’s sin and Sunday worship rolled into one, and frankly, I’m in spiritual danger.
“It’s all right, kitten,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and smug satisfaction. “I’ll do all the work.”
His hands slide up my legs, slow and deliberate, and he leans in to press warm, open-mouthed kisses along my ribs, my stomach, my hips. Goosebumps scatter everywhere. I might actually ascend.
We came home from Portland three days ago, and we haven’t really …
left. Not the bed, not each other. We’ve talked, laughed, ordered food, napped tangled together.
And yes—we’ve made up for lost time. Thoroughly.
Repeatedly. With stamina that should honestly come with a warning label and maybe a sports medicine team.
I’m not complaining. At all.
My alarm goes off, sharp and rude, and I dissolve into a laugh as I stretch to grab the phone from the nightstand. I’ve been awake for two hours. Rogue’s idea of a morning greeting includes his face between my thighs and making me see stars with just his mouth. It’s a glorious way of waking up.
He crawls over me, all warm skin and heavy limbs and that irresistible Irish smirk, plucks the phone from my hands, and kisses me with zero intention of letting me get up.
“Baby,” I manage between breaths, “I love this. I really, really do. But it’s a big day for me.”
“It’s a big day for me too, lass,” he says, smiling against my neck, like I’m being extremely dramatic about professionalism while he is being extremely dramatic about kissing me.
“Rogue, the moment I step into that stadium, I’m going to have to explain to Emily why a picture of us is on every sports page instead of the team celebrating. I need my brain on straight.”
He pauses, hovering above me, eyes bright. “We’re both part of the team. We earned that moment.”
God help me, the pride in his voice nearly turns my bones to pudding.
“That’s not how media relations works,” I say, trying and failing to sound stern while he keeps distracting me with those wandering lips.
“If Emily gives you trouble, I’ll tell her to piss off,” he says, perfectly serious.
I snort. “Yes, that’s exactly what I need. My brand-new relationship and my employment contract tanked before breakfast.”
He finally rolls to the side with a dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his face. “Fine. Go maintain your respectability. Break my heart.”
I stand, legs wobbly enough to make him grin like the cockiest man alive.
I point at him. “I’m going to shower at my apartment; I am all out of clean clothes. You. Shower.”
He points back. “You. Call me when you’re ready. I’m picking you up.”
“So we go to work together now?”
“The whole world knows you’re mine, kitten,” he says, climbing out of bed and stretching like a sinful Greek statue who knows exactly what he’s doing. “Not a single reason to hide.”
I roll my eyes, so I don’t melt on the spot. He steps toward the bathroom, still bare, still dangerous, still unbearably smug. “Text me. I’ll be there.”
I pull on sweatpants and a shirt and grab my bag.
“See you soon,” I tell him.
“Aye, kitten,” he answers softly. “See you soon.”
And I swear, it sounds a little like a promise.
Minutes later, I unlock the apartment door and step inside. The first thing I see is Bri in the living room doing some kind of advanced yoga–pretzel situation where her leg is practically strangling her ear.
She breaks the pose and pops up like nothing happened.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I say, smiling as I drop my bag.
Her eyes sweep over me, head to toe, and a slow smile creeps in, half teasing, half proud, fully knowing.
“Look at you,” she says, hands on hips. “Freshly railed. I swear you are glowing.”
I try—really try—to suppress my smile. It doesn’t work.
“What can I say?” I grab a water bottle from the fridge. “Three days in bed with an Irish god who has officially ruined me for all other men does it for a girl.”
She groans dramatically. “Must be nice. I need to get laid before I start hallucinating men in my houseplants.”
I nearly choke laughing. “We’ll put that on your vision board.”
I glance around, realizing the place is too quiet.
“Where’s Marianna?”
Bri’s grin sharpens into pure mischief.
“Oh, honey …” she says, leaning back against the counter like she’s about to drop royal gossip. “You are not the only Arismendi sister having fun with a keeper.”
My jaw drops. Marianna and Thiago.
No. Way.
I let out a slow breath, smiling despite myself. “Well,” I murmur, “that should be fun.”
THE END