Within minutes the pontoon boat is right beside us and Tucker is joining them, surrounded by a bunch of guys who look young, but not too young. Most likely they’re in college. They have a few women with them, all of them staring at Tucker with rapt attention and I can’t help the stab of jealousy that pierces me when I see them ogling him.
But then Tucker calls, “Hey, babe, get on this boat and join us,” and a surge of pride fills me at him calling me “babe.”
Silly, I know.
I step onto the boat and someone shoves a cold water bottle in my hand and asks me if I want a burger. I’m suddenly ravenous—kissing Tucker must burn a lot of calories—and I agree to a cheeseburger, as does Tucker.
We spend the next hour with them, eating an early dinner, the men asking Tucker all s
orts of questions, the ladies wanting photos with Tucker so they can post on Instagram or Snapchat or whatever.
I just sit there quietly, soaking up the sun, the breeze off the lake, the camaraderie, the way Tucker glances at me every once in a while, like he wants to ensure I’m still there. He smiles. He winks. He even mouths “Sorry,” but I don’t mind.
We’re together. And I get to see him in his “I’m a celebrity” element, and it’s an eye-opening moment. He’s accomplished so much in a short amount of time, and these complete strangers are in total awe of his presence. They want a tiny piece of him, an experience they can share with their friends and family, so they can boast that they met the famous football player, Tucker McCloud.
Yet I know the real Tucker McCloud. The man behind the myth, the stories, the celebrity. I knew the boy he once was, and I loved him with all of my heart.
If given the chance, I could love him again. Even more fiercely this time.
The realization makes me want to cry.
Chapter Twelve
Tucker
Once we drop off Hunter’s truck and boat and we get back into my rental car, I convince Maisey to come back with me to my hotel.
“The shower is amazing,” I tell her, and I can see she’s nibbling on her lower lip like she does when she’s unsure. Funny how some things don’t change. “The water pressure feels like a massage, swear to God. And the bathroom comes with extra soft terry cloth robes.”
“Are you telling me you’ve wrapped that big body of yours into an extra soft terry cloth robe?” Maisey asks, clearly amused.
“No,” I say slowly, reaching across the console to grab hold of her hand and squeeze it. “But I can definitely imagine you wearing the robe.”
Her cheeks flush pink—or maybe they were already pink, since she got a lot of sun today. “You just want to get me into your bed.”
Yeah. There’s no denying that. But I also don’t want the day to end. The sun has almost set, and I’m worn out, yet I want to keep going. I like the idea of taking a long shower and then crawling into bed. Naked.
With Maisey.
I decide to go with the honest approach.
“Fine, you’re right,” I admit. “I do want to get you in my bed.”
She remains quiet for a while, and I continue driving, though a little slower than usual. We’re still at the point where she can give me her answer and I can turn right and head back to my hotel.
Or I could turn left and go back to her place.
“Let’s go to the hotel,” she finally says and I’m tempted to pump my fist in victory.
But I don’t.
With a lead foot I get us to the hotel in record time, dropping the keys and a twenty dollar bill in the valet’s hand so he can park my car. I grab hold of Maisey’s straw basket full of our mostly uneaten snacks and our towels, and I sling it over my shoulder, then take her hand and lead her inside.
We are windblown and sunburnt and I’ve never felt more alive. This has been the best day since I don’t know when. And it’s all thanks to Maisey.
She’s quiet as we ride in the elevator to the top floor, and I wonder if she’s tired. When we enter the room, I offer her the shower first, and she gladly takes it. I sit on the edge of the bed and suffer in silence as I listen to the water run, imagining her standing under the warm spray, naked and glistening.
Fuck.