Risky Play (Red Card #1)(56)

Her eyes had lit up like the dessert was going to be of a physical variety, so when we came to the stadium I knew she was curious about what I had planned.

“I didn’t mind,” I said honestly, and I didn’t. Hugging was intimate—my dad had been a hugger, it reminded me of him. “I can’t believe he asked me to go golfing with him.” I hoped to God Alton somehow crashed our bonding time and I could beat him with my wood.

Mack grinned up at me. “Do you even know how to golf?”

“Please.” I snorted. “I can handle all balls, even my own, big shock. I know, let it sink in for a minute.”

She slapped me playfully on the chest. I caught her hand and kissed her fingers.

“I’m sorry for being a dick to you. And I’m sorry that I may unintentionally snap back into dickish behavior because I’m me and I have no filter and I just . . . well, Matt calls me a bull for a reason.”

“You have no peripheral vision.” She sighed. “It’s okay, I’ll just make sure that all you see is me in front of you so you never have to worry about what’s next to you.”

“Not gonna work, Mack, not when I want you by my side.”

She sucked in a breath as we walked into the dimly lit stadium. “So where’s dessert?”

“Dessert one is out there.” I pointed to the field. “Dessert two? Right next to me. I’ll make sure we’re primed and ready for it, though, none of that quick vacation sex . . .”

She ducked her head against my chest as we walked in the dark. I stopped us, checked my phone. “In three, two, one.”

A spotlight hit the field.

And a giant piece of chocolate cake sat in the middle with two spoons, two chairs, and a lit candle on the table.

Mack laughed and took off running.

And I just watched her.

I watched her joy.

I watched her live.

The girl who was so worried about dying on the plane. The girl who didn’t want the life she had—who needed to spread her wings and fly out on her own.

I wanted that girl. That woman.

I didn’t want the one her parents wanted her to be.

I wanted the one who would jump off a cliff because it was scary.

And I was going to make sure that everything we did was for the woman she wanted to be.

Not the one she had become.

I jogged after her. “Initial thoughts? Cute or trying too hard?”

“Cute.” She pulled up a chair and reached for the fork. “This feels like we’re both breaking in and having a cheat day, I love it.”

“Hah, I told Coach ahead of time, but you’re right about the cheat day.”

She didn’t even wait for me, just dug into the cake and took a huge bite that ended up spreading chocolate across her lips. She licked the excess off, and my body jolted at the motion. “This . . . I think I like this better than your mouth.”

“Well, cake time is over,” I growled, then reached for the plate.

“I’m kidding!” She licked her lips again. “Tell me you baked this and I’m never letting you go.”

“Hah, I didn’t.” I lowered my voice. “My, um, my mom did.”

Her fork clattered to the table before she picked it up again and stared through me. “Your mom?”

“Yeah, I kind of texted her and asked for a favor and then blurted out that there was this beautiful girl I wanted to win over after being the jack of all asses, not that I needed to since she’d already guessed weeks ago that I had someone in my life I wanted.”

“I see what you did there.” She pointed the fork at me. “Keep talking . . .”

“Her next text was a simple ‘Chocolate, and when do you need it?’” I laughed.

“Your mom’s a genius, can I . . .” Her eyes darted away from mine. “Can I maybe meet her someday?”

I grinned. Loving the way she asked if she could meet my mom, like I didn’t want that more than anything. “You can meet her any day you want. She doesn’t live far from me.” I cleared my throat. “It’s, uh . . . it’s been hard since my father’s . . . death.”

Mack reached her hand toward mine and gripped. “I’m so sorry.”

“I need to say something. You asked if you were easy and it got me thinking. I know we both swore we wouldn’t talk about that night, but I also promised not to kiss you and I broke that rule several times already. I just”—I exhaled—“need to get this off my chest.”

Her nostrils flared, her breathing deepened.

“It wasn’t a one-night stand for me,” I confessed. “I know I said that in the beginning . . . accused you of . . .” I sighed. “I can still smell your skin.”

She tilted her head. “Because I’m sitting across from you?”

“No, not like that.” I searched for the right words, probably making a complete mess out of everything. “I mean, I could still smell your skin, I could still taste you . . . weeks later. You’d been a part of me, and I felt so guilty that I still thought about you instead of my father. I blamed you for his death even though you didn’t do anything. I blamed you for me not getting to hear his voice again.” I held her gaze even though I was terrified of what I might see in her eyes. “I didn’t want to blame myself, it hurt too much, and then the guilt just ate away at me, the guilt that I should be mourning him—not still dreaming of you.”