The Bromance Book Club (Bromance Book Club, #1)(75)

By the time dinner was over and the awards ceremony started, Thea had consumed three glasses of champagne and realized with a quiet giggle that at least she was no longer stressing about having an orgasm later.

The awards were for a combination of serious accomplishments and silly traditions. Most Epic Playoff Beard. Worst Bull Pen Dance. Del jokingly refused to accept the award for Worst Dugout Tantrum for a botched attempt to steal second early in the season. But each award took them closer to the inevitable moment when Gavin’s grand slam would be recognized, and with every minute, she tensed in anticipation.

If they didn’t make a big deal out of it, she’d be fine. But there was no way they’d rush through that one. It was the biggest play of the year. They’d probably show a video of the entire thing, which would be the first time she’d watched it since the night it happened. She hadn’t allowed herself to watch any replays because the memories were too raw. The night of his greatest career accomplishment had been the night of her greatest humiliation and hurt. The fact that both could exist in the same space and time was a cruel twist of fate, and she would have to relive it in front of all these people.

If Gavin shared her anxiety, he didn’t let on. He kept a hand on her or an arm around her at all times, glancing at her every few minutes with that dizzying smile or a wink.

“This next one is a no-brainer,” the marketing guy finally said. “Best Long Ball goes to . . .”

The room erupted in an almost choreographed chant of grand slam, grand slam, grand slam. A now-iconic photo of Gavin leaping into his teammates’ arms at home plate appeared on the giant screen. The room erupted in applause. The video switched to slow motion as he rounded third base toward home. Midway down the stretch, he whipped his batting helmet in the air, an exuberant action that spawned a thousand Has Gavin Scott’s helmet landed yet? tweets the next day. His waiting teammates hauled him into a throbbing, leaping, screaming huddle. They jostled him. Hugged him. Knocked him to the ground and hauled him back up. Ripped the jersey clear from his body, revealing a black performance undershirt that clung to every ripple of muscle in his stomach, chest, and shoulders. That photo sparked a thousand I want to have Gavin Scott’s baby tweets.

Gavin strode to the stage to accept the unofficial award amid back-pounding hugs and bursts of laughter. When he returned to the table, he bent and kissed her loudly but didn’t sit. The marketing guy said it was time for the last one, a new award that the guys themselves decided was long overdue.

“Legends, please stand.”

Every player and coach stood. Thea glanced at Nessa, who shrugged as if she were as confused as Thea.

“We all know that the real heroes of this team are the partners at home who somehow put up with us,” the guy said into the mic.

Thea’s heart stopped. What was this?

“You stand by us through the wins and losses. Through the stress of contract talks and trade deadlines. You make this crazy dream of ours possible, and we don’t do enough to let you know how much we appreciate it.”

Thea swallowed hard. Her heart thudded against her rib cage.

“Legends,” the man said. “Show your appreciation.”

Catcalls and wolf whistles followed. All around them, players and coaches pulled their wives and girlfriends to their feet and into their arms for surprise, passionate kisses. A flash of uncertainty crossed Gavin’s face as he held out his hand. Thea folded her fingers in his and stood on unsteady heels.

“This is why I wanted you to come tonight,” he said quietly, sliding his arm around her waist to draw her close.

Thea tilted her face up to his, and what followed was the kind of movie-quality, time-stood-still moment when the rest of the room faded away and there was nothing but Gavin’s eyes and smile and hands. God, his hands. Big and calloused from years of hard work. His fingers on her back trailed a lazy path up and down her exposed skin. A shiver raced through her, the hot kind.

His fingers wrapped loosely around the back of her neck as he bent his head. His lips hovered above hers as if he wanted to give her a chance to back away because his body language told her this wasn’t going to be like all the other kisses he’d dropped on her tonight. Those had been the warm-up. The batting practice to the big show. This kiss was going to be the real deal.

He teased her with a nip at her bottom lip that sent tremors through her entire body.

“Gavin,” she whispered, pleaded, letting the champagne make all the decisions.

With a smile, her husband slanted his mouth fully over hers. Finally. Completely.

A floaty feeling took over, dizzy and light, but it wasn’t the champagne. It was him. The scent of him, the taste of him, the strength of his lips. It was the way he pulled back only so he could plunge deeper, again and again and again. It was the heady excitement of kissing in a room full of people who had ceased to exist within their private cocoon. It was the tender yet possessive way he cradled her head with his fingers. Thea cupped his softly bearded cheeks and pulled her lips away. Their rapid, ragged breaths mingled and blended into a single pant and then a shared puff of surprised laughter. Sounds came back slowly to her. The clink of glasses. The murmur of couples whose embraces had already ended. The click of high heels on the tiled floor. The romantic strains of a slow song by the band.

Gavin nudged her face up to look in her eyes. “I d-don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of here.”