Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
He takes my hand and we go, the twinkling lights illuminating the way.
But we make a pit stop at the apartment and toss the rest of my things in grocery bags first. I won’t miss this place one bit. As we slide back into his car, my belongings in tow, I feel like it’s the getaway vehicle and we’ve made our great escape into our happily ever after. As we go, I have so many questions about him learning ASL. Where? How? Who was the teacher? He tells me he took a class through a local university from a funny, sarcastic deaf teacher named Daya, who promised she’d keep the secret that he was learning it.
“You should meet her someday. And the other students—they’re mostly deaf. They had to keep it a secret too,” he tells me. “Which means that’s one of the first words I learned to sign.”
I laugh, then laugh again when he takes his right hand off the wheel to tap his thumb twice against his lips, right as I’m doing the same.
But we’re no longer a secret, and that feels so good.
We cruise through the city, the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge calling us home. Soon, we’re pulling into his garage and heading inside.
Home, I sign, feeling it deep in my soul.
You’re home, he signs, then he scoops me up, tosses me over his shoulder, and carries me up the stairs.
And he shows me how much he’s missed me in those twenty-four hours, kissing every inch of my body, touching me everywhere, driving me wild, then fucking me like I’m the love of his life.
When we’re naked and sated, lying there in bed, he traces the locket with his finger.
“Open it,” I say, and now I’m the one with the secret.
His eyes glint as he flicks it open. A wicked smile crosses his face as he gazes at the photo I’ve put in it. A shot of our first kiss.
The start of our story.
EPILOGUE: YOU AND ME
Miles
As Leighton comes down the stairs, I finish making her Jasmine Downy Pearls and set a steaming mug on the counter. She’s still on the phone, wrapping up her call.
“I’ll have the calendar proofs to you later this morning.” A pause. “Yes, it looks incredible. I think you’ll be thrilled.” Another pause. “We can look at them together. And Melissa has her sweet and sexy cookies for you.”
With a laugh, she says goodbye and heads over to the counter, eyeing the mug. “Well, aren’t you the perfect man?”
“Fact,” I say.
She smiles, takes a sip, and sighs happily. “There’s only one thing that would make this better.”
“I know,” I say, “but you’ll have to wait till tomorrow. He’s coming then.”
She pouts. “I can’t wait.”
“Yes, you can,” I reply, handing her a canvas bag. “In the meantime, here’s something for tonight’s game.”
With a curious smile, she dips her hand into the bag and pulls out a jersey with my last name and number on it. Her fingers run over the stitching, and her face lights up. I love seeing her in my jersey. It doesn’t have a captain’s “C,” but that’s okay. Coach explained that even though he does trust me now, he didn’t want anyone thinking he’s playing favorites. I get it. Funny how you can work so hard for something only to realize it wasn’t what you really wanted after all.
“I love showing everyone that Twenty-One is mine,” she says, taking another sip before glancing at the clock. “I need to meet with some of the Renegades’ wives today.”
The wives of some of the football players have started doing boudoir calendars too, and they’ve been a huge hit—no surprise there. So has her collaboration with Hugo’s wife, Melissa. Between the cookies and bridal packages, her business is thriving, and I couldn’t be prouder. Her boudoir photography is booming as well and more profitable than ever, thanks to her decision to raise her rates. She’s busier than ever.
Good thing she wrapped up her assignment with the Sea Dogs so she can focus more on her passion—shooting boudoir and empowering women. And she’s damn good at it.
Another thing she rocks at? Taking glamour shots of adoptable dogs for Little Friends. She volunteers for the rescue, lending her shutterbug services to snap pictures of pups in snazzy bandanas posing for the camera. The pics have helped the shelter find even more homes.
But here’s what she doesn’t take pictures of—her mother’s handbags. She didn’t take photos of her wedding either. I’m so damn proud of her for cutting that kind of toxicity out of her life.
Tonight, though, she’s not working. And I get to see her at a game in my jersey. That’s something I’ve always wanted. And now I have it. She’s worn mine before but they’re big and baggy on her. I had one custom-made to fit her and seeing her in it feels like a dream. A dream that’s become real.