His pearly whites flashed. “You like that?”
“Seriously, the heat was on. What gave you that extra push?”
Pinning me with dark eyes, he said low, “I pictured you standing at the finish line with a marriage certificate in your hand.”
My mouth ran dry, and a groan rumbled my throat.
“The faster this race was over, the faster we could get to getting married.”
Glancing down at his empty finger and then back up to his eyes, I said, “About that. This no ring shit? I fucking hate it.”
He half smiled. “How ‘bout we get the hell out of here so we can put ‘em back on?”
I shook my head. “I’m gonna need something a little more permanent.”
“Marriage is pretty permanent, Hopp.” Arrow chuckled.
“More.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You can have it all, babe. Just tell me.”
My stomach did a little dip. Reaching for his hand, I opened my mouth to tell him what it was I wanted. But, of course, people interrupted.
Damn fucking people.
Sensing my anger, Arrow squeezed my hand and pulled me a little closer to his side. His hair was damp from all the sweat he’d shed while in his car. I knew the clothes beneath his suit must be soaked. He was probably exhausted. Hell, I was, too.
Lorhaven and Joey came forward, Gamble right beside them. “That was the best driving I’ve seen you do, bro!” Lorhaven said, his voice excited.
“Thanks, Jace.” Arrow smiled. Then he handed the confiscated press pass to Gamble. “She needs to be fired.”
Gamble frowned at it. “Didn’t listen to the stipulations, did she?”
“No.”
“I’ll call her office.”
“That’s not good enough.” Arrow held his ground. “Fired.”
“I can’t have her fired for being nosy,” Gamble rebutted.
“I’m sure she has a list of shit a mile long she’s done wrong. Just have someone dig around.”
I glanced at Lorhaven. “You teach him this?”
Lorhaven smiled as if it were the greatest compliment he’d ever gotten.
“Don’t encourage him.” Joey shushed me.
“Baby, you know I don’t need any encouragement,” Lorhaven drawled.
I rolled my eyes.
Gamble tucked the press pass into the inside of his suit pocket. “Dinner tonight at the hotel. I rented a private area of the dining room so this doesn’t happen again,” he told us, patting the place he’d just put the pass.
“We have details to go over,” Joey said slyly.
“Just tell us where and when, Joey. Nothing else matters,” Arrow replied.
My chest swelled. I fucking loved him.
Joey nodded, and Arrow gave my arm a tug so I would follow as he began moving away from the group. “What time for dinner?” he asked no one in particular.
“Eight,” Gamble answered.
“See you then,” he called as we walked off alone. “Longest day ever,” he muttered. “I just want to be alone with you.”
Back in the hotel room, the first thing we did was put the rings back on.
And everything else we were wearing? It all came off.
An exclusive tell-all with GearShark in Vegas equated to them renting out a huge private suite in a luxury hotel on the strip.
Add that to the fat paycheck Hopper was getting for this little sit-down, and I might wager this was one of their most expensive cover stories yet.
Hopper was worth it, though. Every single bit of it.
It was a big day for him. For both of us really. Not only was it his interview, but after this, we had last-minute wedding shit to do because we were getting married tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Fucking hell yes!
I didn’t think I’d ever looked forward to anything more in my entire life.
Funny, isn’t it? How a man can spend so much time bucking all the shit that tried to tie him down, bucking so hard it actually caused scars that would never go away, only to then willingly tie himself in every way possible to another human being.
Life, people. Life at its finest.
I also had a sort of wedding present for Hopp. Something he was going to get tonight instead of tomorrow.
It was a gift I’d put a lot of thought into. And a lot of stress.
I really hoped it didn’t blow up in my face.
Between my gift and the interview, both of us were a bundle of nerves. I tried to hide mine, shoved it deep. He didn’t need it right now. He needed nothing but my support.
We got up early because the interview was scheduled that way. Maybe they figured it would be more incognito at the crack of dawn. Who the hell knew? Hopp was more of a morning person than me, but I seemed to be instantly awake the second he was.
I sensed his restlessness, knew he would be turning inward a lot today. How could he not? It would be weird if he didn’t, really. Which again made me nervous about my timing.
Since we were up, we didn’t have to rush around to meet the car they were sending. I ushered him into the shower, where I paid extra attention to his tense back and shoulder muscles and made sure he was extra clean for the photoshoot.
By the time we were dressed, both of us in shorts and T-shirts and a baseball hat covering my head, he was a lot more relaxed.
I had magic hands. Or maybe a magic mouth.
We headed down to the car that was waiting outside and held hands the short distance to the luxury hotel where GearShark waited. There were a lot of luxury hotels here in Vegas. This entire town was crammed full of shit to see and do. We didn’t get to do much because of the press following us around, but I didn’t care.
The car pulled into some exclusive parking garage beneath the building, drove down into a dark concrete section, and stopped at a set of glass doors where a pair of elevators sat.
“Thanks, man,” Hopper said, leaning up to speak to the driver. As he spoke, he pulled out some cash from his shorts.
The man shook his head. “That’s been taken care of.”
We slid out. My eyes swept the entire space for lurking paparazzi as Hopp went inside. In the elevator on the way up to the suite, I turned to my guy.
“If you don’t like the shit they ask, we’ll leave. Screw this.”
He smiled. “Screw it?”
I grabbed his other hand so I was gripping them both and stared hard into his pale-blue eyes. “Hell yes. This is your life. Your past and your decision.”
“You’re wrong.” He shook his head. “This is our life.”
“Yes, but this interview isn’t for me, Hopp. I know you’re ready to move on, and I support that. I support anything you say and do. But this is for you. No one else.”
“Babe.” He sighed, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his body. “I love you.”
I kissed the side of his neck, squeezing him. “For infinity.”
The elevator doors opened, but we stayed like that until I heard them start to close. Moving fast, I stuck my foot out and stopped it. “Ready?” I whispered.
His eyes met mine. “I really am.”
We walked in wearing our rings. When I started to take mine off this morning, his whole face darkened; his voice got all growly and sexy. I liked it, but I didn’t tell him that. However, I suspect he knew I was silently amused, because suddenly, he began sliding his off as well.
I turned growly, too.
Needless to say, they were still on our hands. We were going to GearShark to spill anyway.
The entire staff noticed the rings the second we walked into the all-white suite. The place was pristine. Glossy white tile floors, large windows that overlooked a view of a just-rising sun. The only color came from the people rushing around (who were also dressed in a lot of muted tones), the food setup in the full kitchen, and a giant display of red roses in a crystal vase in the center of the main room.
A low buzz traveled around, everyone in a tizzy because, clearly, the
rings meant a bigger story than even they’d hoped for. They thought we were already married, just like our family originally did.
Hopper leaned close, so close his lips brushed my ear. “Don’t tell them we aren’t.”
I turned my head. Our noses bumped because he didn’t move back. “Wasn’t going to,” I whispered.
Seconds later, we were surrounded by people, and I knew we wouldn’t get another moment alone for several hours.
I glanced at Hopp, making sure he was ready for this.
His smile was all the answer I needed.
To the extreme, right?
I once was an extreme Motocross racer.
An extreme accident shattered my life.
Most people consider the way I reacted extreme. I shut down. Became a ghost, a mere shell of a man, and moved permanently into misery, which was actually my comfort zone.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
So it made perfect sense that the only way for me to step out of my comfort zone and fully embrace the new life I wanted so badly was also to the extreme.
I took a breath, grabbed Arrow’s hand, and went from saying nothing to admitting all to anyone who listened.
It was cathartic. Uncomfortable. Scary.
Sometimes the best things in life are all of those things.
I was changed. Still shattered yet somehow whole again.
Oh, and PS: I was also thoroughly amused. Because sweatpants.
Fucking sweatpants.
They were harmless, comfortable pieces of fabric lots of people liked to wear. Including me.
I was betrayed. Deceived by the very pants I thought of as great casual attire.
Now sweatpants were nothing but traitors. I probably would never look at a pair the same way again—as would anyone else who dared view the cover of GearShark.
I didn’t really think much about the photoshoot that went along with the exclusive interview, until of course we were in the suite, the photographer was all set up, and they pulled Hopp into another room for wardrobe.
Only there was no wardrobe.
He stepped out of the room in nothing but a pair of light-colored sweatpants. And nothing else.
I’d been leaning against the wall, waiting patiently and wondering if they were going to try and fix his hair the way they did mine. I hoped not. I liked his hair. I liked the dark curls that sprang up around the back of his neck and the way it sometimes fell onto his forehead.
The door swung open mere minutes after he’d stepped in. Glancing up, I expected to see one of the wardrobe girls coming out.
I did a double take. And then another.
It wasn’t a wardrobe girl.
It was Hopp, and he was naked.
My eyes nearly fell out of my head. My mouth ran dry. The most immediate response inside me was complete heat. God, he was fucking sexy as hell. All wide shoulders, smooth chest, and muscle. The way his waist narrowed into a V made my palms tingle with need. The pads of my fingers craved the feel of him beneath them.
All that chest just waiting for my tongue.
Someone dropped something out in the other room, startling me back to reality.
Jerking away from the wall, I balled my fists at my sides. “Why are you fucking naked?” I demanded, shoving forward to plant my hands on his chest, trying to cover up all that stark sexiness.
“I’m wearing pants, babe. Not naked.”
I barked a laugh. “Those are not pants.”
“No?” Hopper asked, lifting an eyebrow. The bastard thought this was funny. “What are they?”
“This is a joke,” I deadpanned. “Ha-ha. You got me.”
All amusement faded. “It’s not a joke. This is what they had me put on.”
“And you just agreed?” I snapped.
He drew back. He was surprised I was this incensed over the fact he was wearing nothing but low-riding sweatpants.
You’re damn right I’m pissed. My God, everyone wants a piece of him. He’s mine. Mine. And I’m tired of sharing.
The inner rant shocked me. Surprised me so much I actually drew back, away from my own thoughts.
Hopp said nothing, wrapping his hand around mine and tugging me into the room he stopped in front of the two wardrobe girls. “I need a shirt.”
The girls blinked. Their eyes slid to me, then back to Hopp. “The photographer was pretty specific. Very relaxed attire, no shirt.” She glanced at me again. “It’s to represent the nakedness of the interview. You know, a side of Jayson no one has ever seen before. A stripped down, tell-all version of the story everyone has been waiting for.”
My chest heaved as I sucked in a deep breath. Even though my own thoughts shocked me, the possessive almost territorial feelings still clamored for control.
I was being stupid, but even the realization made it hard to stop.
“I’m still gonna need a shirt.” Hopper replied.
The girl nodded once, went to a rack of clothes, and pulled out a white wife-beater-style tank top. She looked at me. “You wore a tank for your shoot, so this is good, right?”
Clearly, she knew I was the one having a fit over the lack of clothes on his body.
“It’s fine,” I answered.
She tossed the shirt across the space to Hopp, who snagged it midair. After clearing her throat once, she motioned to the other girl. “We’ll give you a minute. Come out when you’re dressed. The photographer is ready.”
“Thanks,” Hopper said.
On the way past, the other wardrobe girl stopped beside me. She was the one who’d fixed my hair for my interview. “I get it,” she whispered. “When your husband is that hot, you probably get sick of people checking him out.”
I made a sound that could have been an agreement, and they left the room, closing the door behind them.
“Babe,” Hopper intoned, stepping forward.
I let out a breath, feeling like a balloon being deflated. “Jesus. Sorry, Hopp. I, uh—”
He laughed. A genuine laugh that brought my head up. “I love you.”
I blinked. “I love you, too. But yeah, I think maybe I have a problem with jealousy.”
The smile that bestowed his face was so beautiful I wanted to rub my palm over his scruffy cheek and press my face into his neck.
As if he knew, Hopper reached out, tugging me close, wrapping me in a hug. Against my hair, he whispered. “If you have a problem with jealousy, so do I. Two guys who have lost as much as we have, then found even more… It would be weird if we weren’t overprotective.”
His skin was warm. Warm and soft. His body was scented with the fancy soap from our hotel shower, and I could feel the heavy beating of his heart against me.
My eyes slipped closed.
“I think I owe you an apology,” he said as his hand reached beneath my shirt and began caressing my back. “I was too caught up in how this interview made me feel. I didn’t stop to think how it affected you.”
“This isn’t about me,” I replied, feeling like an ass for making it that way.
“Yeah, it is. You’re part of my story now. The biggest part there is.”
I pulled away, even though I didn’t want to. Grabbing the shirt in his grip, I threw it on the floor. “We’re here for you. Forget the shirt. Forget my Lorhaven-like asshole outburst. I gotta admit the photographer is on to something. Your chest is gonna sell a lot of magazines.”
“I think your asshole-like outbursts are sexy.” His smile was lopsided.
I groaned, locking my lips against his. When finally I pulled back, my palm rubbed over his beard. “Don’t let anyone touch you.”
Hopper laughed. “I don’t want anyone touching me but you.”
The shoot went by quickly, half the time it took for mine. Hopp was a lot more photogenic than me. I think maybe the wardrobe girls warned the photographer, because he didn’t touch Hopp; he didn’t even go within arm’s length of him.
Or maybe it was because I stood there with hawk-lik
e eyes and watched the entire thing.
After it was done, Hopp put on the clothes he came in, and both of us sat down for the interview. It took a lot longer than the shoot, but the time went quickly. Everyone on set, even the people who normally packed up and left when their part was done, stayed. Everyone was enthralled by Hopper and his story.
You could have heard a pin drop as he spoke and answered questions. Even I learned some shit I hadn’t known before. Stuff I wondered about but never asked because it seemed too painful to bother bringing up.
I hadn’t planned on being part of the interview at all. I was there for moral support, but I ended up answering some questions, mostly about our relationship and our marriage.
Overall, I thought it was going to be a good piece. The piece everyone was waiting for. Some of it had been recorded, something about them running a portion of it on TV for even more promotion and audience.
It was past lunch when we finally walked into our hotel room.
The second the door closed behind us, I turned to Hopp. “How do you feel?”
He looked a little drained, a little wrung out from all the reliving he’d just done. My stomach cramped a little thinking of the “gift” I still had to give him. What if it’s too much?
“It was hard,” he admitted. “But it was good. I feel lighter.”
Moving forward, sliding both hands up the back of his neck, I ruffled out his hair, allowing all the curls and strands the wardrobe people combed down to spring back up. It had been driving me crazy. “Tell me what you need right now.”
To my surprise, he fished into his shorts, pulling out his cell. “I need to make a phone call.”
Chuckling as he hit the screen, he winked at me.
Oh, winks were sexy.
“Hey, it’s Hopper. … Yeah, we’re ready. … Sounds good, thanks.” He disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the nearby couch.
Stepping close, Hopper grabbed me around the hips, pulling me into his body. “Remember yesterday at the track when you told me I could have whatever I want?”
We’d been talking about our rings. I nodded.
#FinishLine (GearShark #5) Page 10
