Page 39 of Wrong Number, Right Player

He takes my hands in his. “Time to make it official,” he says. “We’re moving you in properly.”

“We’re moving me in?” I repeat, shooting him a look that’s half incredulous, half swaying.

“McKenna, you haven’t slept in your own bed in two months,” he says, gesturing broadly with one hand while keeping the other on me for balance. “Your toothbrush took up residence in my drawer, half your clothes are in my closet, and you get mail delivered there now. This is just…making it permanent.”

“Permanent?” I tease, holding up a hand that wavers slightly. “I don’t see a ring on this finger.”

Something flickers across his face, a look that’s equal parts guilty and excited. His eyes dart away for just a second before meeting mine again.

“Well,” he says, his cocky grin faltering slightly, “one thing at a time.”

“Emmitt Buckley,” I say slowly, studying his expression while trying not to sway, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” he says too quickly then clears his throat. “I mean, can’t a guy want to live with his girlfriend without having an ulterior motive?”

“Sure, he can. But you’re fidgeting. More than usual.”

“I don’t fidget.”

“Emmitt.” I step closer, grabbing his shirt for balance.

He threads a hand through his hair, looking suddenly nervous in a way I’ve never seen him, the alcohol making him less guarded.

“Okay, I have…thoughts. About the future. Our future. Plenty of them. But you’ve got so much going on with your business taking off, new clients, building your reputation…” He trails off, then adds quietly, “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“So you’re worried I’m not ready?” I arch an eyebrow, swaying slightly.

“Not ready yet,” he corrects, his voice softer now.

“Maybe, it’s you that’s not ready,” I respond, feeling defensive.

“Me?Me?” He shakes his head. “I’ve been ready since that night at the rink. No, since that night you came over for pizza. Hell, maybe, since the day you started with the team. You’re it for me, McKenna. The only woman I want, now and forever. But I know you need time to—”

“Emmitt,” I interrupt, swaying as I step closer and grab his shirt with both hands. The alcohol flowing through my bloodstream has made me bold. “I’m ready, too.”

He freezes, his hands tightening on my waist in a possessive, hungry grip. “You are?”

“I am.”

“What if I told you I have a ring hidden at home?”

“I’d say you’re overthinking it,” I whisper, pulling him down for a kiss that’s messy and desperate and tastes like beer and want.

We stumble toward my front door, his hands roaming as I fumble with my keys, my coordination shot. “Can’t get the damn thing—”

“Here,” he breathes against my neck. His hands cover mine on the keys, but instead of helping, he’s distracted when I arch into him, my body molding to his.

“Emmitt, door. Now.”

He refocuses until the lock finally gives way, and we practically fall through the entryway, boxes forgotten on the porch as he kicks the door shut and presses me against it.

“So it’s a yes to moving in?” he murmurs, his voice rough as his mouth finds my throat.

“It’s a yes to everything,” I gasp, already tugging at his shirt. “Especially to you, doing me, right now.”

***