Page 122 of Bluffed By the Offense

“Relax, Cass. You already won his heart. You’re just going to your boyfriend’s house for dinner. He’d be happy to see you if you were wearing a shark onesie.”

“Was that an option?”

“Cass!”

“Okay. Okay. I’m going.”

“Have fun. Stay out late. Enjoy your man.”

There’s so much wrong with each one of those statements. If she only knew.

“Okay. You have fun too.”

She gets this sheepish look on her face. “Is it bad that I’m hoping they lose and don’t get into the playoffs?”

“What? Why would you want that?”

“Declan made an offhand comment the other day that if the Thunder doesn’t make the playoffs, we could bump the wedding up. I’m just so ready to be Mrs. Declan O’Connell.”

“I get it.”

Not personally, but I get it for her. They’ve already been engaged for an eternity.

“Please don’t wish them to lose, though,” I say. “That’s sacrilegious.”

Winona laughs. Then she pulls me in for a hug. “Have the best time with Marcus tonight. Come home with that lipstick smeared across your face.”

“Winona!”

“I’m just saying.”

I shake my head and grab my purse. I try to erase the images of what it would take for Marcus to smear my lipstick. The more I try to stop thinking of him kissing me, the clearer the images become. I head out the door, barely noticing my surroundings.

“Think about gym socks, un-mucked stables, moldy cheese,” I mutter to myself as I climb into the car.

Marcus Delaney’s kiss rises over all that. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve replayed our kiss since that morning in Nashville.

I turn on the radio to drown out my thoughts. A few minutes later, I’m pulling into the community parking at the condos. These were built a while back against the wishes of half the community of Waterford, but now that the Thunder practice here, it makes sense to have temporary housing that fits their lifestyle.

I walk up to Marcus’s door and knock.

He answers in an untucked button-down cotton shirt, jeans and bare feet.

My heart starts sprinting like a slot receiver at the sight of him.

“Hey, Cass,” he says. “Come on in.”

His eyes rove over me as if I’m really his date showing up at his doorway for a private dinner.

“You look beautiful,” he says when his eyes land on mine.

“It’s just me,” I say.

“Just you. Yeah,” he says, as if he’s only now remembering that he can drop the act.

“You look … comfortable,” I say.

So very proud of myself for not saying “delicious.”