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  I nodded. "I promise."

  "You look tired, baby," she murmured. "Why don't you go take a nap while you have some peace and quiet, okay?"

  I was tired. I was so, so fucking tired.

  The nerves had powered me through the entire day, and in one fifteen-minute phone call, I felt like every ounce of energy had been sucked into a black hole at my feet. "Okay."

  "We love you," she said.

  "Love you guys too."

  Claire waved, and Logan gave me a tiny smile, but I could tell what it cost him. My big brother would lose a lot of sleep over this.

  Once the call disconnected, I sank back in the chair, heaving out a giant sigh of relief.

  The rest of the scone beckoned, as did the giant bed I'd seen upstairs, the one covered in plush pillows.

  If Jude had a problem with me trying out all the sleeping surfaces in his house, he wouldn't have left me here, a veritable Goldilocks, trying to find the one that fit just right.

  Cute little sheep in hand, I walked up the stairs, finished the scone, and smiled as I passed the guest room where I'd laid to read earlier. The doorway to his room, with its big masculine bed and sturdy wood frame, looked just about right. I'd set the timer on my phone and be back downstairs before he got home, I promised myself, as I crawled onto the perfectly firm mattress.

  I groaned in bliss, pressing my face into a pillow that smelled like him.

  My eyes fell shut, and with the phone call behind me and the smell of Jude surrounding me, I fell fast asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jude

  Everyone had left the pitch, dispersed to various meetings or treatments, so before I went home, I found myself standing in the middle of the endless stretch of green by myself.

  It was hard to remember moments when this job wasn't complicated and didn't come with a metric ton of entanglements. All day, I'd faced various aspects of exactly how I was slipping from my long-held perch. The physio working on my hamstrings commented on all manner of issues she'd noticed in my play the day earlier. Declan cornered me in the weight room and had a chat with me about my attitude. But honestly, what kind of attitude did he expect when we were playing like shit and all eyes turned to someone new to fix our problems?

  He'd struggle too if someone asked him to step down as the captain.

  My manager sat across from me, the barrier of his desk impossibly wide as he discussed exactly why I was looking old and slow and distracted, and I was slowly whittling down all my chances at being in the starter position. With our upcoming match at Aston Villa, we had a chance—and a very good one—to earn three points and move higher. Behind me were players younger, faster, and in his words, had the focus that I used to be famous for.

  Complications.

  A hopeless mess that I wasn't even sure how to go about untangling.

  The only thing that felt clear was the grass beneath me, the white lines lining the space, and the ball that sat in front of me. Digging my toe underneath it, I bounced it on the top of my foot once, twice, three times, and when the fourth bounce hit the grass, I pulled back my left leg and drilled it as hard as I could toward the goal.

  It hit the back of the unguarded net, and the sound of the ball rattling the woven fabric of the net made me smile. Thought fairly innocuous to some, it was one of my favorite sounds in the entire world. Buried in that sound was my legacy.

  And as much as I didn't want to admit it, that legacy was fading to everyone except me.

  I walked off the pitch, nodding to the security guard stationed at the tunnel, and made my way to my car. The drive from the facility back to my house was less than twenty minutes, and as I got farther away, the knots surrounding my day loosened around my chest. It was the first time in a very long time—maybe ever—since I'd headed home with the knowledge that someone was waiting for me.

  Someone I wanted to see, someone I wanted to spend time with, and not only because of the baby.

  I was still wrapping my brain around the future, and how the addition of a child inevitably altered it. Lia wasn't just in my future, some concept I couldn't quite grasp. She was flesh and blood, and right in front of me as somehow the least complicated part of my life.

  Her easy acceptance of what I needed to do today and the way she was able to face the reality of my life without flinching were attractive options to be presented with. I smiled as I pulled my car next to hers, thinking of how happy that scone had made her. Her ability to find pleasure in those small moments was something I could learn from her. I used to be able to.

  Like the sound of a ball hitting the back of the net, normally drowned out by the roaring of the crowds. They were intertwined, to be sure, but maybe the lesson I needed to learn by this sudden veering my life had taken was to appreciate the building blocks when I was faced with them, instead of stepping my full weight on top in order to get to the next one.

  The crowds wouldn't be there without the ball in the net.

  I wouldn't either.

  Unlocking the front door, I called out her name, wondering if coming home to her on this day was another building block. The house was quiet with Lia nowhere to be seen on the main floor. Tapping my thumb against my thigh, I thought of where she might have gone. It was a bit of a walk to any shops or restaurants, but doable. My phone showed no texts from her, and I was a bit later coming home than I'd anticipated.

  From upstairs, I heard a creak, and I smiled. It came from my bed. I knew that sound. It was the sound my bedframe made any time I shifted. I took the stairs quietly, avoiding the spots that made noise. Approaching my room, I decided not to worry so much about what step might come next, what step should come next. I'd simply enjoy whatever place we found ourselves in, whatever place Lia wanted us in.

  The rules would be made to our specifications, and I found that I quite liked that. No one could tell us how we should be doing this, whatever this thing was between her and I. This was the one part of my life that felt smooth, felt instinctual in an entirely different way than I was used to.

  And lying in the middle of my bed, curled on her side underneath the quilt that Rebecca insisted on putting on my bed, I could understand why. Everything inside me felt drawn to Lia, tugged toward her like she'd yanked her fist inside my chest and refused to let go. No part of me could define why it made so much sense to me to climb quietly onto the bed next to her, so I didn't even try. That morning, she'd been open to the easy affection between us, and for a moment, I'd thought she'd curl her clever fingers around my trousers like she had that first night and pull me closer. It was in her eyes to do exactly that, but she'd resisted.

  She was the stronger of the two of us, that much was clear. Because seeing her laid out on my bed like that, nothing inside me wanted to act along the same lines. The sleek line of her back, the silky fall of her hair down her back, and the perfectly round curve of her arse was the perfect gift to come home to.

  She shifted when I carefully curled myself around her, sliding my arm around her waist and intertwining my fingers over top of hers. Of all the places she could have napped, she chose my bed, and as I held my breath to see if that shifting meant she was waking up, I knew she'd done so for a reason.

  The hand not laying on hers brushed against something soft, and I lifted my head, eyes widening when I pulled the tiny sheep—made by my mum—from underneath the pillow.

  "What the bloody hell? Where did you come from?" I murmured. His pink nose wasn't as bright as it used to be. The gray wool of his body faded with age. I didn't even know why I still had it because almost every single remnant of my childhood was tucked away—out of sight, out of mind.

  Lia's fingers tightened around mine when I spoke, and her breathing shifted from slow and steady to shallow, rapid, excited.

  The sheep was tossed off the bed, and I heard her chuckle under her breath.

  "Poor little sheep," she whispered.

  "He'll fucking survive." I buried my nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. Her
back curved sinuously, and that arse pushed back against me.

  I used my other hand to push her hair out of the way, dropping kisses against her neck when I heard her whisper my name. Pausing, I made sure it wasn't an entreaty to stop, and that was when she turned, eyes drowsy with sleep and cheeks flushed with desire. Immediately, she cupped my face, sliding her hands up into my hair.

  "I was dreaming about this," she murmured, and the husky tone of her voice had me shifting my hips restlessly.

  "Were you now?"

  "Mm-hmm." She licked her lips. "You woke me up like this. Differently, but like this."

  I tilted her chin up with my thumb and ducked my head down so I could nibble along the line of her neck. Her fingernails dug into my scalp.

  "Different how, love?" I spoke into her skin.

  "W-with your hands." She arched her back again when the edge of my teeth found her jaw. "You'd taken off my pants without waking me."

  "Trousers," I corrected with a grin. Her fingers tightened in my hair, and I hissed at the bite of pain. I sucked on her neck, hard, and she let out a surprised gasp.

  "If you mark me, Jude …" she warned.

  I lifted my head and met her gaze. "You'll what?"

  Lia's lips curled in a devious smile. "Return the favor."

  Given the way she'd yanked on my hair and the length of her nails, I didn't doubt it. I ducked my head again, sucking the soft lobe of her ear into my mouth. She whimpered. "Would you mark up my back? My arse? Would you use those lovely nails and stake your claim?"

  "Yes," Lia gasped. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

  I licked up the side of her cheek, and her thighs split around my legs, making room instantly.

  In answer, I gripped her chin and took her mouth in a ferocious kiss. Our tongues tangled instantly, my head tilting so I could deepen it further. The familiarity of kissing her was a stark contrast to our first night, where the novelty of her was what made it so bloody sexy. And in that familiarity, I found a haven that I hadn't anticipated, a distraction when I'd least expected it. My hands dug into the flesh of her arse underneath her leggings, and I had to keep myself from tearing at her clothes.

  Enjoy the small moments, I reminded myself, regardless of what came next.

  We kissed like that, hands gripping over our clothes in a way that I hadn't in years. She held me so tightly, her arms around my neck and fingers in my hair. Lia sucked my tongue into her mouth, and I fought the urge to grip her hands and anchor them above her head, sink myself into her like I had before, just to see if I'd imagined how good it had been.

  "What else happened in this dream of yours, my naughty girl?" I whispered, pulling my mouth away from hers, keeping just out of reach when she tried to kiss me again.

  Her hand slipped up the back of my shirt, and the tips of those nails dug into my flesh, making me grin. Her eyes glinted, and as the sleep cleared from them, I saw a question emerge even before she voiced it.

  "Are we making a new rule?" she whispered. The doubt was tempered by the fact she couldn't keep from touching me. From my back, her hand inched around, where she used that wicked fingertip to trace the squares of my abdomen just above the button to my trousers. "Because I wouldn't mind knowing what we're doing here."

  I knew what she was asking.

  But quite badly, I realized I didn't want to lose the ease of this relationship we'd stumbled into by way of a weak condom and her spotty memory at taking a few pills. Without those two things, I might never have seen Lia again, and at the moment, with her lithe body laid out like an offering, that felt like a fucking tragedy.

  So I chose the wider path, the one more easily trod.

  I glanced down meaningfully. "You are roughly three centimeters away from making me very happy, it seems. And I"—my hand did some sneaking of my own, up the line of her soft stomach and to the warm, overflowing cups of her lace bra—"am about to conduct an experiment."

  Her lips curled up. "What experiment is that?"

  "Size checks are now mandatory, I'm afraid." I gently lifted the hem of her shirt and placed a kiss above her belly button. She hissed when I tugged the cups down and continued my delicious journey.

  "C-careful," she whispered. "They're tender."

  "I can be gentle."

  "Can you?" Her hands moved down, pulling open my trousers and gripping me with unexpected strength, my back bowing in unanticipated pleasure. "Because I'm still learning that particular talent."

  I laughed into her skin.

  Lia whispered just next to my ear, lifting the hairs along the back of my neck when it was paired with what she was doing to me with that clever, clever hand. "My size check is happy to report consistently above average sizes."

  With a tortured groan, I snagged her lips once again. Each kiss built upon the last, each time her tongue tangled around mine, frantic energy powered our hands, mine seeking the same intention she seemed to have for me.

  "Yes." She sighed as my fingers slid to their preferred destination. "Oh, oh, I like this rule."

  "Just this, love," I told her. My breath hitched. I took her mouth again, deeper this time, and she tilted her head.

  Lia arched her hips into my palm while I emitted harsh puffs of air against her soft, soft lips.

  She found her release just before I did, in the bend of her back and the way she pinched her eyes shut, the utter relief in the sigh she allowed me to taste from her mouth.

  Relief.

  To me, Lia felt like sweet relief.

  By the time I groaned into her neck, and I fell like a great weight on top of her, I felt like I was in high school again. Our clothes were hardly even undone, yet the satisfaction spreading like warm caramel through my veins was absolutely brilliant.

  For so long, the oblivion found in nameless women, the chasing of yet another goal, another benchmark that only meant something to me did nothing to ease the disquiet clawing at the inside of my rib cage.

  But now, here, was peace. And I found that I didn't want to skip a moment of it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lia

  Two weeks later

  Molly: Can you tell your little strawberry that I am the favorite aunt? I feel like subliminal messaging is important right now, and I don't like the leg-up that Claire will get because of the twin thing.

  Me: It is a strawberry right now. Good sleuthing.

  Me: What about Isabel?

  Molly: Isabel doesn't threaten me because I have a MUCH more maternal nature than she does. She'll be like... the cool scary aunt. Not the favorite aunt. It's an entirely different category.

  Molly: PLUS, Isabel is visiting you in a few weeks. She'll get to plant her own subliminal messages before I get a chance.

  Molly: I NEED YOUR HELP IN THIS, OKAY?

  Me: I'll get right on that after I meet with Atwood. About to listen to her eviscerate my first draft.

  Me: Are you home now? Didn't you just film something in ... Georgia? Somewhere south?

  Molly: Tennessee. We did a piece on the Titans. If Noah got transferred there, I wouldn't be sad to live in Nashville. DON'T TELL LOGAN I SAID THAT.

  Molly: He'd probably be more heartbroken to lose Noah from the Wolves than to have me move.

  Lia: Oh, please. He would not.

  Molly: I know. But he knows it's a reality we may have to face someday. Contracts expire. Athletes change teams.

  Molly: Good luck in your meeting!!

  My fingers itched to ask Molly about dating an athlete. Yes, we'd grown up with Logan, and yes, I knew all the ins and outs of his life, but that was my brother. Now I found myself in an entirely different position. Most nights, I was in Oxford in my cute little flat and my cute little bed, working on my paper in various places around the city. As I'd learned, the city limits housed ten different libraries, and each had a distinct mood. The Old Library at Oxford Union was my favorite, though. Something about the curved ceilings, lined with beams, the floral-shaped windows that allowed the light to stream i
n, and the pre-Raphaelite murals adorning the walls, I always felt just a little bit more connected to my material. Less distracted by ... well, by my entire existence.

  Even the little strawberry seemed more well-behaved when I was in that building.

  When I was curled up in the green leather chair that I'd claimed, I somehow managed not to think about the little piece of ever-changing fruit with its milestones and new body parts that slowly took shape.

  I managed not to think about Jude and how we'd somehow slipped into a relationship with no label, the byproduct of whatever arbitrary rules we decided were acceptable. Chemistry had the wheel of that particular decision, considering it was hard for us to keep our hands off each other when we were alone. We hadn't slept together again, not since that first night, but everything else we'd done seemed to make that a friggin’ technicality at this point.

  But I still wasn't sure how to balance it among everything else.

  Or if I should even try. It was completely possible I was borrowing trouble at this point to try to force Jude to put a definition on what we were doing. Or what we weren't.

  As I approached Atwood's office, it made me think about Charlotte Brontë, as I often did. Conventionality is not morality, she'd written in Jane Eyre, and it seemed like an especially appropriate quote for my situation with Jude.

  Was it conventional? Hell to the no.

  Very little about it was done “normally.” But what was normal anyway? My brain started spinning around that question, and I found myself pausing outside Atwood's door long enough that she finally popped her head out.