by K. Bromberg
“You saw it?”
“Bits and pieces on the airplane.” I tilt my head to the side, completely consumed by the man in front of me and all that he makes me feel.
“Just bits and pieces?”
“Enough.”
“Huh.” He purses his lips.
“How did you know I was home?”
He shrugs. “Because this is our thing. I come here after a game or you sit on my porch in lingerie, and since you weren’t there . . . here I am.”
“Our thing?”
“Yeah. We have lots of things like that,” he says.
“We do?”
He nods. “Staring at the stars, spinning the bottle, initials on hands.”
“Oh,” I murmur. “I was kind of liking the initials on the helmet thing personally, but only saps do that.”
His grin grows from ear to ear as he steps into me, hands to my cheeks, and presses his lips to mine in a toe-tingling kiss that owns every part of me. “Then call me a sap, baby, because I’m all yours.”
“Is that so?” I ask and press a kiss to his lips in between every word.
“Completely.” He runs the backs of his fingers down my cheek while his eyes hold mine. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. There’s no one else’s initials I’d wear on my helmet.”
“Sorry, Ginnie Huber.” I’m still smiling when he kisses me again.
“She didn’t stand a chance against you.”
“No one ever did. It’s always been you for me, Dreadful Drew. There’s no one else I’d rather stare at the stars with.”
“I love you, Brexton Kincade. I know it took a long time to find you, to fight for this, but there is no other way I’d want it to be.”
And this time when he kisses me, he kicks the door shut behind him, and I know he’s home.
I know we’ve found our home—in each other.
I want to scream from the rooftop and tell every teenage girl waiting awkwardly in the corner for the hot guy to notice her that sometimes it happens.
And I want to shout out loud to every grown woman who has had her heart broken over and over that they need to just believe in love.
Because it happens.
Look at Drew and me.
It really happens.
DREW
FORGIVENESS IS A FUNNY THING.
It’s something you say you’d give easily but when the time comes, it feels like a glob of peanut butter stuck on your tongue that you have a hard time swallowing down. But you try and try again and then eventually you’re able to get it down entirely.
That’s how it’s been with my father and me.
I try to forgive, the sentiment gets stuck for a while until I realize that he’s reaching out time and again and so then, I try again.
I think of the man who spun our lives into chaos. The one who lied about the reason and then blamed it on someone else, and I wonder how I can look at him and still love him. I wonder how I can be in the same room when so many were hurt by his actions.
But then I realize time is precious.
I know that when he goes, it would be me who suffers with the guilt of not saying more, of not loving more . . . and so I’m glad we’ve worked on it. There are days the resentment burns bright. Days when I watch Maggs still struggle with her sobriety and I see the fallout . . . but then there are days when I get a text after an away game telling me I did a great job, or when I can look in the stands and see him there and know he’s there only for me.
And I know he’s trying just as hard as I am.
Then there are days like today when I blow out a deep breath, knock, and hope the man who answers the door will be just as willing to forgive.
Kenyon and I have a stronger bond now that I’ve confessed the truth, but I still feel pain. The more time I’ve spent with him of late, the more I’ve resented all the years spending time with him that were taken from me. And now, I need to ask this man to look beyond what he shouldn’t be asked to look beyond. A betrayal that my father has not yet broached or healed with him.
When the door swings open and Kenyon Kincade stands before me, my pulse begins to race.
“Drew? What a surprise. Come in, come in,” he says and steps back from his front door.
“I won’t stay long.”
“Stay as long as you like.” He goes through the niceties of offering me a drink and making small talk before we take a seat. “So, what can I do for you, son?”
“I know there’s history here and I don’t want you to think in any way, shape, or form that I’m ignoring it with the question I came to ask you.”
“History is called history for a reason. It’s something we live, we learn from, and then we move on from. Besides, the history you’re referring to had absolutely nothing to do with you.”
“I know.” I swallow nervously. “But I also know that Brexton loves her family dearly and I’m slowly working on repairing mine.”
“And?” he prompts and then takes a sip of his beer.
“And I love her. Everything about her. Even the things she dislikes about herself—I love.” I run my sweaty palms down the thighs of my jeans. “And I want to ask you for her hand.”
“Is that right?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
“Yes. And I can’t ask that question without telling you there might be times when we have to be together with my family—like say, a wedding.” I chuckle nervously. “But they’ve said they’ll take a step back to not make you uncomfortable. They said that they know she’s it for me and so whatever you want—”
“Drew.” He smiles. “Son. You love her, right?”
“I think I always have.”
“Then the rest will sort itself out.”
“Does that mean . . .”
“I’ve never seen her happier. You helped make her that way. I give you my blessing.”
BREXTON
“CAN WE SPEND EVERY SUMMER here?” I ask with a laugh as the cool breeze coming off the lake has my hair tickling my cheek. While Lake George is laid out before us in all its splendor, the dock beneath us is still slightly warm from the sun beating down on it all day, but the sky has darkened.
It’s been a year since we were here last. A year full of ups and downs and absolute utter perfection. I’m here right now with the one I want to be with.
The man who puts up with my bad days just as positively as he puts up with my good days. The one who loves madly and sports my initials on his helmet despite his teammates calling him a sap. Fitting and funny but awesome nonetheless. The lover who is the other half of my broken whole. Where he zigs, I zag.
“Every summer? You’re not going to hear me argue about that request,” Drew says as he shifts and pulls me back into him so my back is against his chest. His legs shadow mine and his arms wrap around me. “In fact, I already looked into reserving dates for next summer.”
“Great minds, Drew Bowman. Great minds.” I squeeze his arms and lean my head back on his shoulder. “Maybe next summer we could bring Charley with us. She’ll be old enough then that she’ll be able to do everything. Paddleboat, kayak, ice block sledding down the hill.”
“Eating ice cream until her stomach hurts,” he adds and then presses a kiss against my cheek that heats up more places than the dock does. “She’d like that.” Another kiss to the side of my neck. “I’d like that.”
We sit in silence as I think about our last seven days here. Hours spent relaxing in the sun and sailing on the lake. Barbeques and watching fireworks. Late-night passion and early-morning lovemaking.
Teammates have come out for a night, adding to the laughter that has filled this gray clapboard house on the lake’s edge.
“How did we get here, Bratty Brex?” Drew asks softly. I can hear the smile in his voice. “How did one game of spin the bottle end up here, eleven years later?”
“A lot of persistence. A lot of patience. And a lot of one fifteen-year-old girl making promises to give up this or that to the powers that be that Dream
y Drew might notice her.”
“You made promises to give things up?” he asks.
“I sure did.”
We fall silent for a beat. I still feel like I should pinch myself to make sure this is real. That this life is real.
“You were right you know.”
“About?”
“Brexton facts.”
“What do you mean?” I chuckle, trying to follow him.
“All those years ago, you told me that looking up at the stars made you not feel so alone.”
“I thought we said those were Mom facts,” I say and then smile softly at the thought of my mom.
“You’re right. You didn’t let me finish though,” he teases. “Remember what else you said that night?”
“The make a wish part?”
“Mm-hmm. The make a wish part. The Brexton facts.”
“I remember vaguely.”
“You told me that I should make a wish, because maybe someone else staring at the same sky would hear it and help me.”
“Sounds like something I’d say when I was trying to impress my crush.”
He presses a chaste kiss to my bare shoulder. “You were right, Brex,” he whispers against my skin.
“As a teenager, I wished for a girl to fall madly in love with me. As an adult last year, I wished for that girl to be you. And now I’m going to throw up one more wish and see how it will be answered.”
“Drew . . .”
“Marry me, Brex.” I gasp as I turn to face him as best as I can with our positioning. I meet his eyes through the moonlight and see everything I want in them—love, devotion, friendship, and respect. “I know we’ve had tough times and I’m sure there are more to come, but no one has ever made me happier. No one has ever made me want to be a better man. No one has been my last thought before I go to sleep and my first thought when I wake up. Do me the honor of being my wife. Make my wish come true once and for all.”
My lips are on Drew’s in a heartbeat.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I lean back to look at the man I love. There is no person I’d rather be with. “Yes.” I hiccup over the word as he slips a ridiculously gorgeous ring on my finger. “Yes.” My lips meet his again. “Yes.” And another. “Yes.” And another.
“I love you, Bratty Brexton.”
“I love you, Dreadful Drew. And that’s Brexton facts.”
And when our lips meet again, when we sink into the kiss, when our souls sigh at a beginning completely fitting for the two of us, all I can think about is how perfectly us this is.
Kissing on a dock.
At Lake George.
Under the stars.
Together.
Did you enjoy Drew and Brexton’s story in Hard to Score? Fall in love with the rest of the Kincade sisters and their love interests in the other Play Hard books:
Hard to Handle—Out Now
Hard to Hold—Out Now
Hard to Lose—Out March 30, 2021
I must take a moment to acknowledge the crew that helps keep me afloat most days:
Chrisstine—for always questioning my creativity and pushing me to dig for more.
Alison, Stephanie, Marjorie, Michele, Ninfa, Janice, Kara, Julia Griffis, and Chrisstine—for always being my first set of eyes who help me catch the things I miss.
Christy—for being the master of all things including late night texts for tech help.
VP Pit Crew Admins—for helping to keep our reader group going.
Stacey—for making my words look pretty on the page.
Marion—for polishing my words because they’re a mess when she first gets them.
Helen—for designing pretty covers so you want to read my words.
Valentine PR—for helping to keep me visible.
And YOU!! My readers because without you, there would be no one to write for but myself . . . and that might get a little boring.
—Kristy
New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary romance novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy, and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines and damaged heroes who we love to hate but can’t help to love.
A mom of three, she plots her novels in between school runs and soccer practices, more often than not with her laptop in tow and her mind scattered in too many different directions.
Since publishing her first book on a whim in 2013, Kristy has sold over one and a half million copies of her books across twenty different countries and has landed on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestsellers lists over thirty times. Her Driven trilogy (Driven, Fueled, and Crashed) is currently being adapted for film by the streaming platform, Passionflix.
With her imagination always in overdrive, she is currently scheming, plotting, and swooning over her latest hero. You can find out more about him or chat with Kristy on any of her social media accounts. The easiest way to stay up to date on new releases and upcoming novels is to sign up for her newsletter or follow her on Bookbub.
