by Lili Valente
“Sorry, but it’s for a good reason.” Laura smiles as her fingers play nervously back and forth across the wood. “I have an important question I need to ask you and your dad, and I wanted it to be something special we would always remember.”
This time, my heart doesn’t twist. It leaps and dives, then stops for a long, breathless beat, making time slow to a crawl as Laura plucks a slim white jewelry box that I didn’t notice before from the table.
A voice in my head warns that this might not be what I think it is, but I ignore it. That voice is the old voice, the fearful voice, the one that’s too clenched and cautious to realize this is the real thing, the kind of love that comes around once in a lifetime. Maybe twice if you’re very brave and very lucky and meet someone as wonderful as the woman standing in front of me holding a ring in one hand and a delicate silver necklace in the other.
Laura looks up, our eyes meet over the table, and we smile—and it’s suddenly all I can do not to swoop her up in my arms and kiss her until there’s no doubt about my answer.
But instead, I force myself to wait for the question, the one I can’t wait to hear.
Laura
His smile…
His ridiculously beautiful smile…
It tells me everything I need to know, but there’s still so much to say, so many things I want these two people who have become my world to know. They are my family, my home, my safe place, no matter how rough a day I’ve had at work, or how many scary things are going on in the world.
Now, if I can manage to keep from bursting into tears before I get all my words out.
“Brendan and Chloe,” I begin, willing my throat to relax. “I love you both so much. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I get to live with two such kind, silly, wonderfully weird people who make me laugh and think and are always there when I need a hug.”
“Or a kiss.” Chloe nudges Brendan with an elbow, but her dancing eyes stay trained on me, clearly intrigued by my “double cross” and what my speech might be leading up to.
I nod. “Yes, or a kiss. What I’m trying to say is that I feel lucky. So very lucky. And that I’m hoping we can make this official.” I shift from one foot to the other, nervous, though I’m sure at least one of the people I love is going to say yes.
With a deep breath, I hold up the simple platinum ring I bought last month and have been saving for the right moment. “Brendan, you make me happier than I thought I could be. Every day, in a hundred different ways, you remind me that I am loved, special, and appreciated. I wake up excited to see the sun rise in a way I’ve never been before because it means I get to share another day with you and our girl.”
His eyes start to shine, which makes my nose burn, and before I know it, tears are slipping down my cheeks. But I’m smiling, too, because Brendan is already nodding yes, even before I add, “The only way life could get any better is if maybe you would agree to be my husband? Maybe?”
“Yes, yes, and hell yes.” He snatches me up in a hug, squeezing me so tight I start to laugh with relief and a bone-deep gratitude that helps banish the last of my nerves as Brendan sets me back on my feet.
“My next question is for you, Chloe.” I turn to her, holding up the necklace with the two hearts entwined—one little and one big—that I hope will always make her think of us and how much I love her. “Would you do me the very great honor of being my stepdaughter?”
“Forever?” she asks, eyes wide as she blinks up at me.
“Yes,” I promise. “Or as close to it as we can get. I know you’ll be in my heart forever. Do you think that will be good enough?”
She nods slowly, her chin dimpling as she reaches for the necklace only to pull her hands away at the last second. “Will you put it on for me?” There’s a shy note in her voice I’m not used to, that makes it even harder to keep from snotting all over myself.
“Yes, I will. It would be my pleasure.” I brush her braids out of the way and guide the necklace around her neck. I’m still bleary-eyed, so it takes a couple of tries, but finally I get the clasp to catch, and Chloe smiles, beaming up at Brendan.
“Look Dad.” She brings her hand to the necklace, touching it gently.
“I see.” Brendan sniffs as he swipes a thumb under his eye. “It’s beautiful, baby.”
“You’re crying,” Chloe says accusingly, brows furrowing.
“I’m just really happy,” he says, laugh-sniffing as he loops his arms around me from behind. “Very, very happy.” He kisses the top of my head. “Now we only need one more thing, and we’ll be ready to go.”
“What’s that?” Chloe asks as she spins the charm between her fingers. “Dinner and extra dessert?”
Brendan and I both laugh-sniff at that one.
“Yes, dinner and dessert,” he agrees. “And a ring for Laura. Luckily, I happen to have one of those back at the house.”
“Or it might be in your luggage.” I turn in his arms. “Where I put it in case you didn’t want to be the only one sporting an engagement ring at breakfast tomorrow.”
Brendan smiles, clearly pleased and happy and in love with me, which is still a miraculous turn of events I’m thankful for every day. “Sexy and smart. And beautiful. And thoughtful. And good to me and my baby. How did I get so lucky, Freckles?”
“I’m not a baby!” Chloe announces firmly, making Brendan and I smile again.
“Absolutely not.” I wink at Brendan before adding in a softer voice, “Diana will be here in about forty-five minutes to get Chloe, so we should probably eat. I thought we might want to stay and watch the stars come out over a bottle of champagne I happen to have stored in a cooler beneath the table.”
“You are so sexy right now,” he says with a soft growl.
“Ew, stop,” Chloe says, but she’s grinning as she climbs back into her seat at the table. “I’m getting ready to eat, for goodness sake.”
“I can’t help it.” Brendan pats my ass one last time before he pulls out my chair. “I’m crazy in love with your future stepmom.”
“Do I get to be the flower girl?” Chloe’s eyes light up like she just spotted a mermaid unicorn swimming in the waves behind us. “At the wedding? I do, right? Who else would you pick?”
The next thirty minutes we spend watching the sun set and eating grilled shrimp salad with mango dressing—Chloe’s favorite—while discussing the flower girl dress, which is clearly a much more pressing concern than what the bride will be wearing to the wedding, and whether or not crowns of flowers will be mandatory attire for anyone wishing to attend this celebration. We end the meal with giant blueberry muffins with sugar baked into the top, another of Chloe’s favorites, and a treat that qualifies as “double dessert,” and are finishing up just as Diana appears on the path leading up to the lookout point.
“Looks like congratulations are in order,” she says, holding one arm out to Brendan while the other reaches my way. “Bring it in here, you two. I’m so happy for you! It couldn’t happen to two more wonderful people.”
“And me, too,” Chloe adds. “I got a necklace!”
Diana makes some appropriately impressed sounds over Chloe’s new necklace, and then, after some very sweet kisses and hugs from our favorite nearly-eight-year-old, Brendan and I are finally alone.
“Thank you.” His fingers glide into my hair as I step into his arms. “For including her. It made it so special. She’s never going to forget that she was a part of this, of the day we promised to be a family.”
I sniff, pressing my lips together as my eyes start to fill again. “You’re welcome, but you have to stop or I’m going to cry again.”
“That’s okay. You’re sexy when you cry,” he says, making me laugh. I’m still smiling when his lips meet mine, but soon laughter is the last thing on my mind as Brendan’s tongue strokes into my mouth and his fingers tease along the place where my bikini bottom meets my skin.
“We can’t,” I mumble against his lips. “Someone might see.”
“No, they won’t.” His fingers slip beneath my suit, teasing closer to where I ache for him. “It’s almost dark.”
“But it’s not dark yet.” I lean back, placing a hand on his chest. “And I haven’t had a single glass of champagne.”
“But if I give you champagne, you’ll agree to anything, Freckles.”
“Exactly,” I whisper, smiling up at him as I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
His eyes glitter, and his lips curve into a wicked grin. “As long as you won’t accuse me of taking advantage when you’re sober tomorrow morning.”
“The only thing I’ll accuse you of is being a coward if you refuse to get me tipsy and do naughty things to me under the stars.”
“Consider it done, baby,” he promises.
After two glasses of champagne shared on a large flat rock with a killer view of the waves going dark as the stars wink on in the sky and fires flicker to life on the beach, Brendan pulls me onto his lap, guiding my knees to either side of his hips. And then his hands are everywhere.
He unbuttons my cover-up and pulls my bikini top down, baring my breasts, teasing my nipples as his lips devour mine. The waves crash, and my head spins because I am drunk on love and desire and this beautiful man who will one day soon be my husband.
“Let’s elope,” I say as he pulls the ties at either side of my bottoms and quickly draws the fabric from between my legs. “Next week. You, me, and Las Vegas. Or Mexico. Wherever we can get it done the fastest.”
“No, we’re going to do it right.” His breath rushes out over my lips as he frees his cocks and guides me down onto his hot length. “I’m going to marry you in front of our friends and family and a photographer I know who takes incredible pictures of my beautiful wife.”
“I can’t wait.” I sigh into him as he fills me perfectly, completely, and my body welcomes him in like the dear friend he is. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”
“How about Christmas?” he asks as we begin to move. “On top of a mountain, with snow in your hair like a Viking princess? And then I’ll take you to the honeymoon suite and start working on getting you knocked up.”
“Yes.” I moan, the thought of babies no longer scary.
It’s simply beautiful. Exciting. And weirdly…sexy.
So sexy that it isn’t long before I’m at the edge, clinging to Brendan’s shoulders as I ride him harder, faster, the magic surging between us the way it always does.
My head falls back, the stars spinning as I come in thick, dizzy waves. Brendan joins me a second later, calling out my name as he pulls me close, closer, closest, until our hearts are beating in time and our blood hums in tune beneath our sweat-slick skin.
And even though I nearly fall and twist my ankle later, stumbling down the trail to the beach in the dark while tipsy on champagne and love, it is the best night ever. The very best.
Sure to be followed by many even better nights to come.
The End
Keep reading for a free excerpt of Puck Aholic,
Tanner and Diana’s story
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About the Author
Lili Valente has slept under the stars in Greece, eaten dinner at midnight with French men who couldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths on their food, and walked alone through Munich’s red light district after dark and lived to tell the tale.
These days you can find her writing in a tent beside the sea, drinking coconut water and thinking delightfully dirty thoughts.
Lili loves to hear from her readers...
www.lilivalente.com
Also By Lili Valente
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Sneak Peek
Of Puck Aholic
Tanner AKA Nowicki
Tonight, I helped a friend propose to the woman he loves. I made two people who are perfect for each other very happy, solidified a bond with a teammate I admire, and got to watch the sunset from the deck of a multimillion-dollar beachside mansion where I’ll be spending the night with a group of good friends and their families.
I finally made the list. I’m a “cool kid.”
As a rookie, there was a time—like two months ago—when I didn’t get invited to the smaller, veteran parties, the private gatherings of the players who know they’ve got a home in Portland as long as they stay fast enough and refrain from getting their heads slammed into the glass too often. Concussions take out a lot of good players before their time.
And then there are guys like me, whose brains are hardwired wrong from the get-go. My contract was renewed for next year, but if I don’t keep my focus laser-sharp, I might not be a Badger for long.
It would be best if I don’t get attached. Don’t get in too deep. Don’t allow myself to wish I wasn’t at this party alone.
I don’t have time for a girlfriend, and I’m in no place to make a long-term commitment.
But as I watch my teammates pair off with their significant others—wandering down to the darkened beach or up to their rooms—I can’t help feeling low.
And cranky.
And a little jealous.
Fine, a lot jealous. Until this year, I haven’t spent much time alone. I’ve always had a girlfriend or a steady date on the verge of becoming a girlfriend. I like women, have always gotten along well with the better-smelling sex, and enjoy spending time with humans who aren’t afraid to talk about things other than sports or work, which happen to be the same in my world, further reducing the opportunities for conv
ersational variety.
And then there’s sex…
I sigh heavily as I plod down the stairs toward the beach, my flask of whiskey in hand.
God, I fucking miss fucking. I miss it so much I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.
Surely even the most testosterone-fueled meatheads don’t think about sex as much as I think about sex. And the only thing that keeps me from dwelling on how long it’s been since I had a woman in my bed—seven months, three days, and a handful of hours—is killing myself on the ice at practice and pushing myself to the limit during every game.
But now I have a four-week hiatus until practices officially start again and nothing but my morning workouts to keep my thoughts out of the gutter.
Summer hookup, man.
There’s nothing wrong with something temporary as long as you’re honest with the girl before you get in too deep.
I tip back my flask, sending more Johnny Walker Blue flowing into my mouth, so smoky and smooth there isn’t a hint of burning when I swallow.
A summer hookup won’t work. I know myself better than that. If I find a girl I like enough to want to fuck her, I’m going to want to keep fucking her and caring about her and moving forward until something eventually gets in the way. And if that something is me needing to end things because I can’t keep my head in the game or I get transferred to an armpit team in Arizona, I’ll feel like an asshole.
“Alone,” I mutter, lifting my flask to the black ocean waves crashing against the sand as I stop at the darkest, loneliest corner of the beach. The place where I clearly belong. “Better to go it alone.”
