Page 167 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

I stroke his cheek. “Of course, I do.”

“Well, I love you for that.” His eyes shine suddenly with unshed tears. “You don’t fall for my bullshit. You’ve never even looked my way when I tried desperately to flirt with you. You made meworkto impress you. And now that I have, it feels pretty damn special.”

“You’re a terrible flirt.”

“I’m great at it.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

Ryan’s eyes sparkle. “You’re smarter than me. And it wrecks me.”

“I know.” I give him a rueful smile. “It’s a counterbalance to how soft I am. It’s not the strongest quality.”

“Gentleness can be powerful.” He pulls me closer. “Most of all, I love you because you give me a future. All my life was just banter and fucking and hockey. But with you… I finally know what home feels like.”

My heart grows five sizes. I kiss him, because I don’t have the words to say how special and magical he is to me. He groans and kisses me back, a hand sifting through my hair.

“Did I mention that you also smell incredibly good?” he whispers against my lips. “Like lemons and honey and sunshine.”

Oh god. “You’re just lured in by my pheromones.”

He bleats a surprised laugh. “I’m happy to say that I don’t know what the hell that means.”

“I can’t wait to teach you all of the made-up bullshit that romance novels have taught me. Seriously, I have some shockingly bad takes on where the clitoris is located.”

“I think I’ve got that one covered,” he says, his tone amused.

I place my hand flat on his chest, right over his heart, and feel the steady thud of it under my palm. “We have no idea how to do this.”

“So?” he says, covering my hand with his. “We figure it out.”

“I mean the real stuff. The after. Where do we go from here? Do we leave tonight? Do we face the press together? Do you have any idea what kind of shitstorm you just created?”

Ryan laughs. “Honestly? I don’t care about the interviews or the headlines or any of that. I want pancakes and you in my jersey and Sunday mornings when we don’t have to perform for anyone.”

The image hits me right in the chest. Simple and domestic and perfect. “That sounds pretty damn good.”

“Doesn’t it?”

But even as I say it, the fears start creeping in. The doubts that have been living in the back of my mind since this whole thing started.

“What if we’re only this good in stolen moments?” I ask. “What if we suck at the real stuff? What if we get bored when there aren’t any cameras around to make everything dramatic?”

“Then we suck together,” he says simply. “Wren, I don’t need drama. I don’t need cameras or producers or any of that bullshit. I just need you.”

I study his face, looking for any sign that he’s not being completely honest with me. But all I see is sincerity and love and a kind of quiet confidence that makes me believe him.

“I felt so invisible,” I admit. “When you didn’t choose me, when you didn’t call, I felt like maybe I’d imagined everything between us. Like maybe I was just some temporary distraction while you figured out who you really wanted.”

“You’ve always been the one I couldn’t forget,” he says, and his voice is fierce. “There’s never been a version of my life where you didn’t matter. Even when I was trying to convince myself this was just a show, just a job, you were the thing that made it real.”

He reaches up and threads his fingers through my hair, gentle and careful, like I might break. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fight harder for you in that moment. I’m sorry they put you through that.”

“You’re fighting for me now.”

“I’ll always fight for you.”

He leans down and kisses me then, soft and slow and completely different from the desperate kiss we shared in front of the cameras. This one is just for us. Personal and quiet and full of promise.