Page 37 of The New York Nighthawks, Vol. 2

DEMPSEY

My phone rang, and I nearly fell off my treadmill in my haste to pick it up and see who was calling.

When I saw Skye’s picture on the screen, my heart rate doubled, pounding hard even after I’d paused the machine and slowed to a stop.

I’d been a professional football player since I was twenty-two, played against some of the meanest and most formidable opponents out there, taken hits that almost ended my career…

and nobody had made me as nervous as the nineteen-year-old who I hoped to marry soon.

However, I managed to keep my tone level—even more impressive considering I’d been running a few seconds ago—when I answered. “Hey, baby. I hope you’re calling to tell me that you’re accepting my proposal.”

“Such as it is,” she muttered so low I almost missed it.

I grinned since she couldn’t see me. That’s what you think, baby. She had no idea how real this marriage was going to be, but it wasn’t the right time to tell her.

“Um, I…I have a couple of questions.”

“Shoot.” I grabbed the hand towel hanging on one of the bars and wiped my forehead as I left my home gym and headed to the master suite.

“Well, I was wondering if this arrangement would require us to…live together.”

I wondered if her hesitancy in the question meant she was really asking if we would be sleeping together. My instincts told me to hold off on that conversation until our wedding night. “Yes.”

“The thing is, I have a lease—”

“Baby, stop worrying about that shit. I’ll take care of you.

” Once she moved in, she was never moving out, and I’d happily pay to buy her out of her lease.

I made a detour on the way to the bathroom to pull out a pair of boxer briefs.

“It has to look like a real marriage.” It would most definitely be a real marriage.

“A piece of paper isn’t enough. They’ll want to see that I’m settling down. ”

“And this would just be until I finish school?”

“Something like that,” I hedged as I put the phone on speaker and set it on the marble counter. I didn’t want to outright lie, especially since I was already manipulating the whole situation to get what I wanted.

“Well…” She went silent, and I waited for her to work everything out in her mind. If she said no, I’d just have to come up with something better to convince her.

I stripped off my sweaty clothes and walked over to my shower—that could easily fit six people…or two who needed plenty of room to fuck—and set the temperature on the controls, then flipped on the water.

“I guess my answer is yes.”

I grinned and gave myself a mental high five. “That’s great, baby. I’m going to grab a shower, then I’ll swing by, and we can have dinner and go over everything.”

“Shower?” Her voice was breathless, and my cock twitched. “You’re…”

“Bare-ass naked,” I supplied when she trailed off. Her quick intake of air went straight to my dick, and my shaft began to lengthen and swell. “I was working out when you called so I’m all sweaty. Figured I’d clean up before taking you out.”

“Sweaty…”

She sounded a little dazed, and I swallowed a laugh.

It was satisfying to know that I had an effect on her.

Hopefully, I could fan it into the same level of burning desire I felt for her.

Although, I doubted she would ever have my level of obsession.

She was all I’d thought about since we’d met.

It was a good fucking thing we hadn’t had a game in the past couple of days.

I was crossing my fingers that finally having her in my space, with my ring on her finger, would give me the ability to focus on something else.

Like my job, so I didn’t get my ass kicked on the field… or by the coach.

“I’m gonna go, baby. Send me your address, and I’ll see you in about an hour.”

She cleared her throat, and her voice was much clearer when she responded. “Yes. Okay. See you then.”

Just under an hour later, I caught a lucky break and found a parking spot in front of Skye’s building.

It was a typical New York City old-school brownstone, red brick that had faded and chipped over time but still faring well in the East Coast weather because these places were built super fucking sturdy.

Most of them had basements that were designated bomb shelters.

So I didn’t think much about where Skye was living until I stepped through the front door. Like so many of these buildings, the bottom level was a long, narrow hallway with a few doors, a set of mailboxes, and stairs leading up to the next floor.

There was an intercom, but it had been taped over to let people know it didn’t work and the front door was open. There were two doors to go through, and from the overwhelming scent in the tiny vestibule, it had obviously doubled as a toilet.

The entry was dim because several lights were burned out. I didn’t want to know what the linoleum floors were stained with, and dirt was caked in the corners. A couple of the mailboxes were busted, and although there was a tiny elevator—one I wouldn’t even fit in—it had an out of order sign.

I’d grown up in one of the poorest neighborhoods in New York City, yet my apartment had been in better shape than this.

My parents, along with most of our neighbors, took pride in what little they had.

Our building had been clean and—despite our useless, lazy-ass super—well maintained because we all pitched in with any skills we had to make the place we lived a home.

The fact that my woman lived in a place so dirty and unsafe had my temper flaring. By the time I’d ascended the third set of stairs, my plans for the night had completely changed.

Once I was at apartment 2B, I forced myself to knock gently so that my anger wouldn’t bleed through and scare her. The door to the right opened, and a half-dressed man, with bloodshot eyes telling me he was high as a kite, stepped out and sauntered down two doors before disappearing inside.

I took one step toward the room he’d vacated and glanced inside. Oh, hell to the motherfucking no. It was a bathroom. A shared fucking bathroom. It didn’t escape my notice that unlike every other inch of this place, the bathroom was scrubbed clean—no doubt the work of Skye.

The realization that she used a shared bathroom was the last straw. If I hadn’t already been planning to take her home with me, I sure as hell would be now.

“Dempsey!”

Skye’s shocked gasp took my attention off the bathroom and how fucking dangerous it was for my woman to be in there, naked and vulnerable. Fuck.

Staying calm, I put on a fake smile so she wouldn’t be freaked out by the raging feelings of possession and obsession that were clawing at my insides. “Hey, baby. Ready to go?”

She glanced behind her nervously, then gave me a smile as fake as my own as she stepped into the hall and pulled her door closed. “Yep. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to come in. I was going to meet you outside. ”

Before she could close her door completely, I flattened my palm on the flat surface and held it open. Then I used the other hand to gently push her stomach so she backed up into the apartment.

Glancing around, I was impressed with what she’d done to the shoebox she lived in. The place was clean and tidy, and she’d hung posters of beautiful paintings on the walls. She also had personal photos scattered around, as well as little knickknacks and flowers to make the space homier.

And when I used the word “space” I was being incredibly generous.

The room couldn’t have been more than one-hundred square feet.

There was a sink, mini oven, and mini fridge in one corner.

The kitchenette didn’t have any counter space, but Skye had one of those small, rolling islands to give her a place to prep her cooking.

The back wall had a loveseat situated next to what looked like a very tall, large cabinet that had to be a murphy bed. On the opposite wall was a little table with seating for two and a tall dresser.

I admired how she made the most of what she had, but there was no fucking way she was spending another night in this shot hole. Especially not when the locks on the doors were so damn flimsy.

“I like what you’ve done with the place, Skye,” I complimented, to soften the news I was about to deliver.

Her cheeks turned pink, but I could tell some of it was from lingering embarrassment. I hated that she thought I would judge her for where she lived.

“This building reminds me of the one I grew up in,” I offered as a way to help bridge the imaginary gap she saw between us. “We kept it in much better condition, taking pride in making it a home, just like you’ve done with this room.”

Her eyes went round, and some of her tension began to ease. “You grew up in a building like this?”

I chuckled and crossed my arms over my chest, then leaned back against the wall.

“Yup. I wasn’t always a pro-athlete. I lived in Harlem until just a few years ago.

Granted, I’d moved into a much bigger apartment and moved my parents into one as well.

But my friends and family—blood or otherwise—were there, and I’ve never let go of my roots.

I only bought my current place because the penthouse was a good investment and closer to the stadium. ”

“I didn’t know that about you.” Her smile was genuine as she relaxed and stopped worrying.

“That being said. Get your shit because you are going home with me tonight.”

“Wait…I’m what?” she sputtered.

“My fiancée is not living in this shithole with locks that a toddler could pick, and a shared bathroom that is used by pervs doing fuck all knows what in there. So pack a bag and I’ll get the rest of your stuff moved to my place tomorrow.”

“But…”

“No arguments, baby. You can do as I’ve asked and we can get the hell out of here, or I can shove some shit in a bag and carry you out over my shoulder.”

After a few seconds, her mouth snapped shut and she walked toward the only other door in the place—probably the closet—mumbling about how I’d ordered, not asked.

Damn straight.

“You have ten minutes. I’m just going to step into the hall to make a quick phone call.”

Skye huffed in annoyance but opened the closet and dragged out a small carry-on.

Satisfied that she would do as she was told, I walked back into the hall and closed her door behind me. I dug my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contacts until I found the number for my friend and lawyer, Aidan Bryant.

“Dempsey,” he greeted when he picked up after two rings.

“How’s it going? You’re killing the season so far and—” A woman’s voice said something in the background, and he stopped talking to listen.

Then he chuckled. “Bianca wants to know if you’re coming to the barbecue next weekend.

She’s insisting that I do something lawyer-y to force you not to cancel again. ”

I couldn’t help smiling. Aidan’s wife, Bianca, was adorable and had become like a little sister ever since she married my friend.

Their kids even called me Uncle Demy—it was how their daughter Jaelynn had pronounced my name as a toddler and it just kind of stuck.

“Tell her I’m sorry and I’ll definitely be there. I’ll even bring my wife.”

Aidan was silent, and I could practically see him gaping at the phone. “Wife?” he finally choked out.

“Well, not quite yet. Which brings me to why I called. Do you think you could get Judge Lambert to waive the waiting period and marry my fiancée and me tonight?” Aidan had worked with Dillon Lambert for years, and he’d performed a quickie wedding for Aidan and Bianca.

“I’ll explain it all another time, but for now, I just need to get my ring on my woman’s finger before she changes her mind. ”

Aidan burst into laughter, and I waited impatiently for him to get control of himself. “Sure, D. I’ll give him a call. He’ll text you if he’s available tonight and you can meet him at his office.”

“Thanks, Aidan. I owe you.”

“Just come to dinner. You make my wife happy and you don’t owe me anything.”

“Deal.”

We hung up, and I entered Skye’s little apartment again. She was just zipping up her little carry-on, and when she saw me, she picked up a shoulder bag and set it on top of the suitcase before wheeling it toward me.

I took the bags from her and carried them as I placed my other hand at the small of her back to guide her out of the apartment.

Once we were outside, I led her to my SUV and put her bags in the trunk, then helped her into the passenger seat.

I went around to the driver’s side, and just as I was hopping in, my phone dinged with a text.

After pulling my door closed, I retrieved my cell from my pocket and checked the ID.

The message was from Judge Lambert. He was available for the next hour, then he was leaving town for a week.

Well…no time like the present.

I checked to make sure Skye was belted in, then latched my own and started the car.

“Where are we going?” she asked softly as I eased out onto the narrow, one-way street.

“The courthouse.”