Getting Schooled (Getting Some #1)(77)

“No, no, no!” Garrett waves his arms at a player on the sidelines. “Jesus Christ—you’re fumbling because you’re holding the ball too tight!”

“No, no, no, no, no, no . . .” Will chants. That was his second word.

“It’s god damn genetic.” Garrett shakes his head.

That would be Patrick O’Riley. He’s a clencher—like his older brother Nick before him.

Garrett takes Will out of the carrier and holds him with one arm, his head in Garrett’s large hand, tucked against his side. “This is how you hold the ball—this is the amount of pressure you use to keep the ball.”

Then Garrett puts our ten-month-old in the sophomore’s arm and points.

“Now run.”

Will giggles as he’s jostled around, having a blast. And I’m not concerned, because I know that Garrett would cut his arm off before he ever put our son at risk.

Still, as the football player jogs past me, I add my two cents.

“You drop my kid, O’Riley, I’ll hurt you.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Coach D., I won’t drop him.”

Garrett smiles as I approach, his eyes sliding up and down over me and liking what he sees. “Hey, you. You all done with your meeting?”

“Yep. I’m going to head home with Will. We’ll take Woody for a walk around the lake.”

Garrett nods, his dark hair falling over his forehead in my favorite way. “We’ll be done here soon too—another hour.” He wraps his arm around my lower back, pulling me closer. “Let’s go out tonight. Twelfth Night is playing at the Hammitsburg Theater. You can get dressed up, we’ll enjoy the show . . . then I’ll take you home and undress you.”

I giggle. “Hmm . . . who’s going to watch the baby?”

“My parents have Ryan and Angela’s girls, and Connor’s boys—he’s got a date tonight . . .”

Connor’s divorce from Stacey was finalized last year. He’s got his own house in town now and he’s been trying to get back into the dating scene. It’s been . . . adventurous.

“. . . so I figured we’ll drop Will off with them too—give them a full deck of grandchildren. They live for that shit.”

I rest my hands on my husband’s broad shoulders.

“You have the best ideas.”

He wiggles his brows, his pretty brown eyes full of love and filthy thoughts.

“Baby, I’ve got ideas for tonight that’ll blow your mind.”

Garrett does a quick scan of the field—making sure his players are all otherwise occupied. They are. So he slides his hands into the back pockets of my jeans, giving my ass a playful squeeze, then he bends his head and kisses me.

And this is us. This is our home, our life, our love . . . this is our always.




The End