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“Not good enough. I’m not leaving for the airport until you understand that you are and always have been the only woman I’ve loved.”

Swiping at a tear just below her lashes, she quietly sniffs, trying to steady herself. She leans her forehead against mine. “I believe you.”

“That’s my girl.”

Tension releases from my shoulders when she initiates a kiss. Her soft lips find mine. Our breath mingles together. As gentle as the island’s waves, her tongue rolls around mine. When we break apart, she whispers a command, “Get dressed.”

“Scared of what I’ll do to you for not having faith in me.” I offer a slow seductive wink.

“So afraid,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Why are you squeezing your thighs, Becca? You’re getting wet just from the caress of my hand.”

“No, I’m not.”

My fingers slip into her boy shorts and slide through her folds. She’s warm and wet, but I should get dressed to leave. Instead, I decide to leave her with a good memory. I glide through her folds and as she gives into the feeling, I press on her sensitive nub until she’s panting and overcome with an orgasm.

“Becca, we’ll make it. It won’t be easy but was becoming a lawyer easy? No. Was making it as a professional hockey player? No, but babe, anything worth having, you must be willing to fight for it. Willing to put in the hard work. I’m not leaving until I hear you say it.”

“Say what? That life isn’t easy. Or that I love you?”

“I like the sound of the last part.”

“Good, I love you John Basilio, now get dressed. I won’t be the reason you miss media day.”

I cup her cheeks, giving her a big, fat, succulent smooch. When she laughs, the weight on my chest lifts. She pulls the towel off my hips, swirls into a rope, and snaps it like athletes do in the locker room. This is what I want for the rest of my life. Hanging with the person I love. Being playful. Having conversations until we work out whatever is bothering us.

My alarm on my watch rings, and I know I should have already been in the lobby waiting on the shuttle. I slip into athletic wear and grab my Stallions hat. After throwing my toiletries in my carry-on bag, I swing my golf bag over my shoulder. “Okay. I’m ready. God, I hate to be the first one to leave, but…”

“It’s time to get back to reality,” she says, pressing on her toes and giving me one more kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

I leave her reality comment behind me. “You do the same. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll try to catch your interview on the Rattlers YouTube channel.”

She rolls my suitcase out to the golf cart, and I secure my clubs and carry on. I say, “This was the best ten days of my life. Better than winning the Frozen Four. Better than being drafted. Better than my new contract.”

“Who knew John Basilio was such a romantic underneath all the bravado?”

“No one. I saved it all for you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Becca

Home, sweet home. I fall on my bed filled with anxiety after my first day back to work. Maybe I should have asked Harper if I could borrow Roscoe to get me through these first few days without John.

When I landed in Nashville, a litany of texts awaited me from John. He checked in when he changed planes in Miami, when he landed in Dallas, when he got home. That one was accompanied by a selfie, leaning back on his couch with one forearm lying across his forehead with a caption, “I wish you were here.” The next string consisted of this:

Tracking your plane. Did you know you’re flying at thirty-two thousand feet?

Nashville estimated arrival time seven twenty-eight.

You landed. Can’t wait to hear your voice. Call me.

Love you.

I called, and the call went to voicemail. Ugh.