The Trouble With Quarterbacks - R.S. Grey Page 0,108

“But that’s just it—it’s part of the reason I can’t get you out of my head. You’re crazy,” I say, wiping her cheeks. “And I love you.”

“Right.” She pats my chest. “Well, sorry you’re so in love with me! Wish I could say the same, but I have loads of boys running after me and I—”

“Candace, say it.”

“I really can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

One of Jay’s neighbors walks out of their apartment, an old woman with a scarf tied around her head and a yappy little dog at her feet.

“No canoodling in the halls!” she chides us as she passes to head for the stairs nearby.

Once she’s gone, Candace locks eyes with me again and presses her lips together to keep from laughing.

“It’s fine if you can’t say it,” I say, turning away and walking off without her.

“Oh no you don’t!” Another roll hits me square in the back. She’s got a pretty good arm. “No reverse psychology here, mister! I love you, do you hear me?! I love you!”

“Hey! Keep it down out there!” another neighbor shouts.

Candace runs and takes my hand so we can hurry off to the elevator together.

I make her say it again before I kiss her against the back wall as the elevator slides down to ground level.

“I can’t believe you want me to say it again,” she teases. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m totally mad about you! You’re so handsome and sweet and not at all how a professional foosball player should be.”

“Football player,” I correct.

“What’s the difference?” she asks before rising up and pressing her mouth to mine.

Epilogue

Candace

“SACK HIM, YOU BLITHERING IDIOTS! DO SOMETHING!”

Our defense is asleep. They have to be. That’s the only reason Green Bay’s quarterback manages to complete a twenty-yard pass, which is caught far too close to the end zone. I shout in anger and try not to resort to any more curse words. I’ve already met my yearly quota.

Then I look back at Yasmine and Kat, hoping to get some assistance or at least see they’re as upset by the game’s turn of events as I am, but the two of them are sitting on their arses, munching away on all the food provided in our private suite at the stadium, completely unbothered that we’re close to letting Green Bay score and take the lead.

“Aren’t you two going to get up and help me?!”

“Help with what? You shouting your head off won’t change anything. Just tell your fiancé to start throwing some touchdowns. How about that?” Kat says, sucking the mustard off her fingers. This is her second hot dog of the quarter.

“Right. Some help you two are.”

“I can’t get up. What do you want me to do? The doctor says shouting is bad for the baby. You shouldn’t be shouting either. I’m sure she’s in my belly listening and thinking her auntie is a loon.”

Right. Kat is knocked up. She’s only about four months along, but the way she whinges on, you’d think she was 43 1/2 months pregnant.

She’s over there with her feet elevated and a heating pad stuffed behind her lower back. Oh good grief. She doesn’t even have a proper bump yet!

I shouldn’t have been so surprised that she got herself into this position. It’s just like her. She and Jay have been married for a while. Oh yes, married. They flew to Vegas the night after we bailed on their dinner party and tied the knot. Kid you not. We thought they were insane, and well, they are, but oddly enough, it seems to be working. They still refer to each other as Sweetums and Pookie, and I still gag every time I hear it. Yasmine and Marcus are together still too, though they’ve had a rocky few months. They’re both so bloody dramatic. They love the back and forth and the fighting, and I swear their relationship changes with the lunar cycle. Oh, full moon—guess they’re off again. This time seems to be it, though. I know from Logan that Marcus is totally smitten with her and has bought a ring and everything. I bet they’ll be engaged by this time next year, just in time for my wedding.

WEDDING.

YES! I’ve managed to convince Logan to spend eternity with me. Ha ha ha. Joke’s on him!

I’ve been planning the wedding for a few weeks already, and it will be small and tasteful and modest. JOKING. Oh my god. No. I’m only planning on getting married once, so we’re blowing it out of the water. We’re heading