Page 76

He had said the words that I had been defining ever since I drove that truck over the Padre bridge. “Cole?” I looked into his piercing eyes.

“Yeah, baby.” He tugged me closer, his thumbs hooking through my belt loops.

“This is home. I want you to know I want our baby to grow up here. I want our family to live here.”

He lifted me around his waist, and I wrapped myself around him, letting my ankles lock against his lower back. His lips met mine and I kissed him soft and slowly, reveling in how we were meant to fit this way. This is what together meant. We had moved past summer, past the awkward adjustments, past injuries, past the jealousies, past the doubts, past the questions. All I knew as Cole’s kisses took me under with heat and passion was that all my tomorrows were going to be his tomorrows. We were building a life. A family.

Cole was home.

**Keep reading for another Violet Paige novel**

Dirty Game

Copyright © 2016 by Violet Paige

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Prologue

This was the last place I should be. The absolute last place. I’d woken up this morning in hot and dusty Dallas, and now here I was standing outside of the Dock House while boats rocked in their slips.

My heel made a hollow sound as it hit the parking lot pavement. I slammed the car door behind me and inhaled, taking in this place and all the memories we had made.

The wind whipped through my hair. I hesitated. This was all wrong. I shouldn’t be here, but I had to know. I had to see him again.

I pushed open the door, my heart in my throat, my palms dewy with perspiration, my breath fevered.

Was any of it real, or had it all just been a flash of summer heat?

1

Blake

I had been called a brooder, and at times much worse. I liked beer, an occasional dip, and I loved to fuck. At twenty-six, I valued my time and space more than the warmth of someone sharing my pillow. I didn’t have time for relationships.

And what quarterback did? I didn’t need a girl to get in my head or under my skin. One climbing into my bed was an entirely different story.

I closed the locker under where Wiley was engraved into the wood.

“You headed out?”

I turned to see one of the conditioning trainers behind me.

“Yeah.”

He shook his head. “You’re the only guy on the team who isn’t going to Cabo or Rio. You know that, right?”

“Fuck.” I laughed. “I don’t need that shit. I get enough of it during the season. The last thing I want is the fucking press following me around.”

“Going to your fishing hole?”

That’s what the guys around here called it anyway. They didn’t know shit about where I was from. I was ok with that. I kept my personal life personal. I never took them. Never even invited them.

“Something like that.” I pressed my lips together.

Jones strolled through the locker room. “Dude, you’re not going to Cabo with us?”