Words scratch at the back of my throat, trying to climb their way out. Words that would sound crazy if I ever said them out loud. Words that she’s not ready to hear.
Urgently, I crash my mouth to hers so I don’t have to say anything, so I can show her how I feel without ever using words.
The kiss turns wild and dirty. Iris grates my scalp with her fingernails. My hand ends up under her skirt. I nudge her thighs open and run my knuckles along the seam of her panties. Just as I’m about to push the scrap of lace aside, she pulls back, breathless. “Baby, Dr. Woodworth just gave you some really good news and I don’t think he’d appreciate it if we repay him by corrupting his examination table.”
I chuckle with my lips against hers. “I think you’re probably right.”
We make ourselves decent and leave the office, my arm slung around her shoulder, her finger hooked in the belt loop of my jeans. As we’re waiting for the elevator, I tuck her against my side and put a kiss in her hair. I love the way my shy girl blushes for me.
We’ve got a sports talk radio station playing as we drive back toward Crescent Harbor. As per usual, the announcers are trying to stir up shit. Listeners are calling in to rag on the Paragons and their shitty performance over the past few weeks.
Fuck these assholes.
“I can’t take this anymore.” I grip the steering wheel with white knuckle force. I point my chin at my phone sitting in the center cupholder. “Call in,” I instruct Iris.
“What?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Grab my phone and call the radio station.”
“No way.” She titters nervously.
I take my eyes off the road to pin her with a demanding look.
Her shoulders slump with resignation. She picks up the phone and dials the number.
When my call goes through, Iris holds the speaker close to my lips. I don’t hold back.
“All you shit-talkers are gonna have to eat crow. Very soon. Because I’ll be back on the field. Maybe even before the end of the season. And we all know that Kingston-Masters-O’Ryan are a fucking force when we hit the field together.”
“You stand by that, Kingston?” The announcer demands.
“I stand by it.”
“Folks, you heard it here, first. Paragons tight end, Jude Kingston, will be back on the field soon. And he’ll be kicking ass.” I hear the challenge in the man’s voice. “We’re holding you to that, Kingston.” My phone is beeping with another call. It’s my agent already on the line.
“Go right ahead, man.” I disconnect the call with the sports announcers and switch lines to answer Paul.
My agent’s voice booms through the line. I hear the restrained excitement in his tone. “Kingston, I just heard your little performance on-air. What the hell was that about? Is it true or were you just blowing smoke?”
I chuff. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, Paul. And you know I’m fire!”
Yes, I sound like an overconfident douche. But you can’t hold it against me. After wading through a fog where my future was a muddled mirage ahead of me, I finally see a clear path forward.
I feel good. I feel like my old self, only better.
Paul wants all the details. I give them to him, repeating the doctor’s prognosis. The man hosts a mini-celebration right there on the phone line and he says shit like, I knew you could do it…Fuck what the haters said…It was only a matter of time until you got back on the field…
Yeah, because he wasn’t the one trying to get me to hang up my dreams and go rot away at a desk in a human resources department.
Anyway…
I’m on a high as I end the call and nothing can get me down.
Iris gives me an uneasy look from the passenger’s seat. “You made some pretty bold assertions there.”
“Assertions I can back up.” I snap a wink.
“How are you so sure?”
“Because I’ve got a secret weapon.”
“What’s that?”
I take her hand and place a soft kiss on her knuckles. “You.”
35
Iris
Jude moves with a confident stride, guiding my mother and me along the stone path to the backyard of the gorgeous contemporary ranch-style house. His shoulders are mighty broad in that black polo shirt and his hair is deliciously tousled from the breeze that whipped through the open top of his convertible.
I feel cute in my cardigan, floral dress and kitten heels. I haven’t stepped on a scale in a while so I may just be imagining it, but I think I’ve lost a few pounds. Or maybe I’m starting to realize that it’s not a number I’ve been after. Maybe it was a feeling all along. This feeling.
As usual, I’m nervous about showing up to a social gathering with people I’ve never met—because Faith is awesome, but her sisters could be monsters, for all I know—but my roomie’s fingers locked with mine makes me feel considerably calmer. He grins at me.
I tried inviting Lexi and her husband to tag along with us. I thought it would be cool to make this a group thing. But Cannon has another weekend business trip—something to do with some new non-profit organization they’re setting up—and Lexi is flying with him.
My backup plan was Penny, but she’s training new staff at the Frosty Pitcher and Jessa's with Callie today. My mom is basically the only person who’s off work on this Sunday afternoon, so here we are.
She’s been attentively tuned in to every grin, every touch, every freakin’ word Jude and I shared during the ride down here. When we got out of the car and he reached for my hand, I swear my mother
