I Bet You(72)

I stare down at her. “God, Red. I wanted to be more eloquent. I got nervous—”

She kisses me and my arms go around her.

“It was perfect,” she whispers into my ear. “We’re perfect.”





Penelope

Two years later



I’m humming as I open the door to our penthouse. The smell of Ryker’s spaghetti sauce is the first thing I notice, and I groan, inhaling the yummy spicy scent. It makes my stomach rumble.

“Shit! Pen! Give me a cigarette!” squawks Vampire Bill from his perch next to the window that overlooks Central Park in Manhattan.

“No sir,” I tell him. “Smoking is bad for you.”

I call out Ryker’s name as I cross the room to check on my bird, but I don’t get his usual Hey Red call. I assume he must be too engrossed in cooking, and I give Vampire Bill a little scratch on the head.

“The word of the day is author,” I tell him, unperturbed by his glare. “I know. Easy, right. Well, today—and I’m telling you first because Ryker hasn’t popped out to see me—I signed my first contract with a publisher! Isn’t it great?”

Vampire Bill rolls his eyes.

“I know, I know, it’s taken a long time, but with enough perseverance, dreams do come true. Isn’t that cool?”

He shakes his head.

I grin. “Say Pen is an author. An awesome, deliriously happy author.”

He picks up a piece of leftover food from the bottom of his cage with his foot and flings it at me.

I sniff, dodging it. “I know you’re happy for me. You just have a hard time expressing love. Want a Ritz?”

“Shit! Yes!”

I give him one.

“Ryker,” I call out as I leave Vampire Bill and walk into our ultramodern kitchen with its granite countertops, steel range, and white cabinets. Ryker and I bought it a year ago after he was selected by the New York Giants as the first pick of the draft.

After homecoming at Waylon two years ago, the Wildcats won the national championship, a first for our school. So, while he didn’t come out with the Heisman, there’s nothing sweeter than a championship ring that proves you’re the best. Archer ended up being drafted in the third round, but his career stalled when he was arrested for getting into a fight outside a nightclub.

It looks like a tornado has come through the kitchen. There’s a pot of delicious red sauce simmering on the stove and pans everywhere. I turn off the sauce and set it on the counter. Looking around, I see he’s made a platter of caprese salad, complete with tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and basil. There’s also a bottle of champagne open with two flutes next to it. Several lit candles glow on the table. I grin, imagining him going to all this trouble for me.

Where is he?

Hmmm.

It’s the offseason, thank goodness, and part of me wonders if he hasn’t gotten sucked into watching old game tapes in his study.

I make my way down the hall, and when I hear a tortured groan coming from the bedroom, I detour and head that way. I open the door and freeze.

“What in the heck are you doing?”

Ryker’s standing bare-chested in his jeans next to our nightstand, his face white as he looks down at his very sparkly and magenta pink chest and then back up at me. I blink.

His white shirt is on the floor as if he whipped it off in a hurry.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Oh, fuck, Red. I didn’t think you’d be home for another half-hour.”

I stride over to him and take the bottle he has in his hand, read the label, and look up at him. “Unicorn glitter lotion? Really? Where did you get this?”

“Some girly store. I thought you’d like it.”

Part of me is pleased he’s thinking of creative ways to make me laugh, but the other side is worried about his beautiful chest. “Is it supposed to turn your skin neon pink?”

He shrugs and then winces. “Oh, babe, it would have worked, but I think I’m allergic to it. I was trying to ride it out while I was cooking, but it started burning and itching, so I came in here to see what was going on…” He waves at his torso. “It doesn’t look good.” His lips quirk. “Do I remind you of Edward?”

I bite back a smile and give him a quick kiss. “He can’t hold a candle to you. Now let’s get this off ASAP.” I tug him into the bathroom and turn on the shower. “Here, hop in and wash it off while I go find a Benadryl.”

“I’m not getting in without you,” he says with a little growl as he pulls me back towards him. “I’ve been waiting on pins and needles all day for you to get home and tell me the news. Did you get the contract you wanted?”

I throw my arms around him, not caring that the lotion may leave a stain on my white blouse. “I did. They loved my ideas! We have a lot to celebrate.”

He kisses me hard. “Get in with me,” he says against my neck.

“What about the Benadryl?”

“I’m tough. It can wait. My cock can’t.”

With a swiftness that proves he’s a master at lovemaking, he removes my pencil skirt and blouse. My bra and lace panties are next. Whipping off his pants, he pulls me in the shower with him, his fingers already exploring the lines of my face, the hollows of my throat, the curves of my shoulders. He makes love like this a lot, memorizing me, touching me as if he’ll never let me go.