EPILOGUE
Three Years Later
Ipush the stroller into the quiet room and smile at the gray-haired attendant who holds the door for me. “Thanks, Mike.”
The old man tips his cap at me. “Always a pleasure, Mrs. Sinclair. Remember, if you need anything else, press that buzzer in the main room and someone will be with you.”
“I will, thank you.”
“It’s gonna be a great game. I can feel it,” he says as I park the stroller and kick on the brakes.
I brush a soft kiss on my sleeping eight-month-old son’s temple before I follow Mike out into the main VIP box overlooking the stadium.
“I think so too, Mike.”
He smiles and throws me a wink before he leaves.
I walk to the front of the box overlooking the football field. When the glass doors open and shut behind me, I don’t turn around.
“Tell me I didn’t see Mike flirting with you again.” The growl reaches me one second before strong, firm arms capture my waist.
I turn my head and catch the gold and green team jersey Brock is wearing. He chose the colors because they match my hair and eyes. But the colors look incredible on him too.
Watching the cotton strain across his broad shoulders gets me soaking wet every time.
I giggle. “You think every guy with a pulse flirts with me.”
“Because it’s true. I turn my back for one fucking second and every asshole thinks they have a chance—” He stops talking and freezes. “Goldie…honey, tell me you’re wearing something underneath this trench coat.”
His voice is strained with hunger but etched with danger at the same time.
My pulse accelerates and heat billows between my thighs. I open my mouth but no words emerge.
My throat is dry with excitement and I can barely stand as Brock’s fingers fly over the sturdy buttons. The moment he has a gap, his fingers delve between the lapels.
A hot curse leaves his lips then he frantically attacks the remaining buttons.
He flips me around; his face is a picture of need and incredulity as he eyes me up and down. “Fuck. Oh fuck. You’ve been here two hours. We’ve had lunch together after I gave you the tour. And all this time, you’ve beenfucking naked?” Flames leap in his eyes and his breathing is erratic.
“Surprise,” I whisper, my voice a husky mess. “You like it?”
His gaze devours me, lingering on my bullet-hard nipples and the shaven mound of my pussy. “Jesus, honey. I love it. But…why?”
I shrug. “I thought you needed something good to take your mind off fretting about your first outing to Soldier Field.”
Although his old team offered him his job back as a coach for the Warriors, it took only six months for Brock to realize that wasn’t what he wanted to do.
So he put all his capital—and that of major ex-players who were itching to throw their support behind him—and formed the Chicago Cleavers.
It’s been a tough challenge juggling the formation of a team, a wedding, my finishing a degree in sports psychology and having a baby on top of everything else.
But the ride has been incredible too.
Tonight the Cleavers have their first game on Soldier Field.
Brock wouldn’t admit it because he didn’t want me worried, but he’s been fretting about tonight for weeks.
“God, honey. I don’t deserve you. How did I get so fucking lucky?”