Page 27 of The Wildest One

Like a spring shower, when the sky turned completely dark and a breeze rushed through the city—you could see it coming; you could feel it in the air. That was now. And tomorrow, my heart was going to ache when he left to go to Washington, DC.

I didn’t care that Beck had only come into my life the evening before last.

Whatever these feelings were, they were real.

And these feelings were going to hurt when they watched him walk out the door.

“Did the clothes arrive?” He took a drink. “The ones my assistant was supposed to send?”

“They’re all hung up in the closet. We won’t need them until later this afternoon. What I have planned for the first part of today won’t be as chilly, even though it’s cold outside.”

His brows lifted, his forehead one of the few places on his face that wasn’t covered in hair. “And you’re still not going to tell me what those plans are?”

“Nope.” I laughed. “There’s something so satisfying about surprising you.”

He cupped the bottom of my neck—a spot that he touched more often than any other place on my body. “You know, you’ve already made this stay more memorable than I ever imagined.” His thumb stroked back and forth. “Thank you for giving me these couple of days.” He paused. “I won’t forget them.”

Stay.

Please.

Even though I know there’s no possible way that you can.

“I won’t forget them either.”

Our eyes were locked, and the silence was too much. His stare was too. So, I looked away and downed my entire glass of champagne, setting the empty on the table in front of us.

The flavor of the drink mixed with the mint on my tongue—an odd combination, but I needed the booze, so it didn’t matter. Because it was the drink that gave me the courage to ask, “What time is your flight tomorrow?”

That was a Band-Aid that needed to be ripped off. My brain was desperate to fill in that missing piece, the unknown more than I could handle right now.

Since he’d mentioned their itinerary was going to be discussed at today’s practice, I knew he had the answer.

“Nine.” He turned toward me on the couch, his hair still wet, the smell of shower faint, but the spice strong. “The team will be leaving the hotel a little before eight.”

“It’s a private flight, right?”

He nodded. “And we have to be film-ready. Our social media crew wants footage of us walking on and off the plane and will be shooting during the flight.” He sighed. “Any bit of hype they can stir during our winning streak, they take full advantage of.”

Even though we were talking about something different, that didn’t mean I felt better about his departure. That I wasn’t mentally dwelling on it. “I can’t blame them. You guys have won your last five games. Momentum like that drives up ticket sales.”

He moved his hand behind my head, his fingers lost within my locks. “It does, but we fucking hate it. We want to be in a zone when we get on the plane and stay focused during the flight. The same is true for when we exit and go to the hotel. Having a camera in your face, especially while in the air, fucks everything up.”

“I’d hate it.”

He nodded. “Some moments, you just don’t want to beon.”

“Well …” I inched a tiny bit closer. “I’m going to do everything in my power to try to make you forget about being on. At least while you’re still here.”

His LA Whales sweatshirt was zipped up to the top, and I lowered the zipper a little, sticking my fingers inside. He was wearing a soft cotton T-shirt beneath, and the heat from his skin was coming through the fabric.

No one had ever felt as warm as Beck.

Tomorrow, I would crave this moment. I would think back to it. I suspected I would do absolutely anything to rewind time.

He lifted my legs and stretched them across his lap, holding my shins, rubbing them. “You already are, Jolie.”

“I want to tell you something.” Beck’s hands were hanging over the rail at the front of the fifty-five-foot yacht we were on, the freezing wind blowing his hair back as we cruised through the harbor. “No one has ever done anything like this for me before.”