Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(42)

I have Glow the Firefly on both my ass and my left breast pocket. Yes, it weirds me out. But fuck if I won’t own the hell out of these puppies anyway.

They’re our good luck charm, and we all look like goofballs together.

“Dude, I want bling,” Francisco mutters to me as we file toward the bus.

“Get your own girlfriend who likes to wear bird bait.”

Yeah.

I’m wearing Henri’s sequin hat.

I traded it to the equipment manager for an official Fireballs hat before the game, but I have it back now, and I’m wearing it out to the bus.

Even without people watching.

The sentiment that I’m publicly claiming Henri through her hat should be enough to make me grimace, but the hat—

Damn thing’s making me smile.

I don’t know why, but it is.

For a woman who was on my last nerve two nights ago, Henri’s amusing the shit out of me today.

Up on the bus, Brooks drops into the seat next to me. “Ready to kick some Florida ass?”

“Damn right.”

“Gonna sleep with that hat too?”

“You want one so bad, ask your fiancée to get you your own.”

He glances around and lowers his voice. “Is she one of your Nonna’s tricks?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence in my ability to be a good person. Appreciate it.”

“Emily?” he mutters.

“Shut the hell up.”

“Not trying to be a dick, but you being a dick won’t help our game either, and I’d rather be the dick who calls your bullshit now than the idiot who didn’t stop a train wreck when all I had to do was ask a simple question.”

I played my rookie year with Brooks in New York. I met Emily in New York. I got engaged in New York.

And I called it off last-minute in New York.

Not many people cared about a post-season wedding disaster for a rookie who wasn’t yet shilling shampoo and hadn’t set any records, but a few of my teammates were there.

And this one remembers.

I scowl at him. “I learned my lesson.”

“Lesson wasn’t supposed to be love sucks.”

“Did I try to stop you from getting engaged?”

“No, because you’re usually one of the good guys. Fun on the field. Good teammate off the field. Pretend to be happy for us even when you think we’re making mistakes, because you know better than to be that guy. But if you and your grandmother are manipulating a woman who’s an utter disaster—”

I don’t lunge for his throat, but I’m close. “Do. Not. Call. Her. That.”

“Rossi. You’ve met my sister.” He lifts his hands like peace. “Utter disaster’s a compliment where I come from. Also means I’m not gonna sit back and watch you take advantage of someone who reminds me of her.”

“I’m not taking advantage of anyone.”

He squints at me like he’s gauging how honest I’m being, then slowly nods. “Good.”

“Hey, lovebirds, you made ESPN.” Cooper’s the last to board, and he drops into the last open seat across the aisle as the bus pulls into motion. He flips his phone toward us, and there’s video of Brooks and me leaping into the stands before the game while ushers and security race after us.

God, Henri’s face.

One minute, she’s buried under a pile of hockey players and bird feathers, and the next she’s emerging wide-eyed and gaping at me like she doesn’t even know what planet she’s on.

I swear, her eyes say she’s talking as fast in her brain as she talks when she’s awake as I try to explain to her that the vultures were attracted to the reflection of her sequins.

And that look that’s shifted on her face as I turn away—fuck.

This entire situation is a bad idea. Brooks is right.

But who else is going to protect her from herself?

I might’ve screwed up royally when it came to Emily—though she messed up plenty on her own too—but I’m older, wiser, and better equipped to do the right thing by a woman.

With Henri, the right thing is making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

Physically or emotionally.

I can do that without getting involved, and the fact that she came to me with her eyes wide open, asking me to help her, is a good sign we’re on the same page.

I’m about to grab my phone and text her to make sure she got home okay when it buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, scan a few lines, and holy shit.

Whoa.

Just whoa.



Henri: Do you know what I want to do to you? I want to swipe my hungry tongue all over your hot skin from your mouth to your dick, and then I want to lick your cock until it’s weeping for me, and then I want to take your hard steel rod into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat and suck you until you can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel the pleasure of my hot, wet, silky magic on your glorious cock, and until you know no other woman’s name but mine.



My dick twitches. My mouth goes dry. I angle in my seat so my teammates can’t read this, and I’m gaping at the screen, my brain short-circuiting as I try to come up with a coherent response, when another text arrives.



Henri: OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH WRONG SCREEN. That wasn’t for you. Erase that. Ignore that. OMG. OMG. OMG, I am so embarrassed.