Epilogue

Davis

6 months later

T here are few things that feel the way it does to stand in the middle of a stadium packed with ten thousand people, all chanting your name as you strike out the third guy in a row.

In fact, I think the only thing that feels better than that is when Zara's lips are wrapped around my cock, and that's only because there's nothing else in the world like my girlfriend.

Fuck, I love her.

And I love playing for the best team in the NCAA.

I love being a Hellcat, and this season has been fucking incredible. A constant high that I never want to come down from.

"Hey, Loverboy," Zara squeals as she jumps into my arms, locking her legs around my waist. "God, you were so hot out there. I couldn't wait another second to pounce on you."

I chuckle, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face. "Yeah? I was just showing off because I knew you were watching."

That's actually true. I always play better when I know my girl's watching, and maybe that's why I've had the best season of my career. Because Zara hasn't missed a single game.

She's been in the stands, cheering me on, being my biggest fan.

Love does funny things to a person. Honestly, I can hardly remember the kind of guy I was before I met her. Before she stomped into my life in those fucking combat boots and I served her my heart on a plate from Magnolia's.

I never stood a chance.

It's been hers ever since, and the past six months have been the happiest months of my life.

She's made me the happiest I've ever been.

"You look so sexy wearing this," I say, dragging my fingers down the front of her open jersey, over my number that's scrawled along the chest. "I love seeing you wear my jersey."

Her lip curves into a grin, and I lean in, capturing her lips because I can't wait another fucking second to kiss her.

"Good," she murmurs against my lips when she pulls away, trailing hot, wet kisses along my jawline until she gets to my ear. "I was thinking I could wear it while you fuck my tits and come on my face later."

Motherfucker.

I groan. "You are fucking trouble."

"Always have been and always will be. Good thing you love trouble, huh?" she muses, a playful smirk on her lips as she lowers herself to her feet, brushing over my hardening dick.

This girl. She's going to kill me one day.

"Yeah, I do. But not when we're about to go to dinner with your parents and brother. Now we're actually able to sit in the same room without wanting to throat punch each other," I say, reaching for my bat bag near my feet, then hoisting it on my shoulder and grabbing her hand.

I love the way she feels in my hands. Like she was made to be mine.

Perfect.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "For making an effort to get along with him. It means a lot to me."

We're walking to my truck now, hand in hand, and my shoulder dips. "He's not… as bad as I once thought he was. But don't tell him that, or he'll think we're, I don't know, friends or something."

She doesn't respond, simply smirks as she lifts a brow.

Fine, we're kind of, sort of friends.

Turns out we have way more things in common than hating each other, and since I'm dating his sister and we're teammates, we're around each other more than not.

We play video games sometimes and… occasionally send funny memes to each other in secret.

It's better this way though. I didn't want Zara to feel uncomfortable or like she had to choose between us, and if I have any say-so in it, she's going to be mine forever.

I don't care that it's only been six months.

When I think of my future?

It's Zara.

Of all the uncertainties the future holds, I know that part for a fact.

She makes me better.

We leave the stadium in a hurry since there's not much time between my game and dinner with her parents and head to my house. Most of the guys haven't made it home yet, so we're alone.

Which is rare and hard to come by these days. Even more of a reason for me to convince her to get an apartment with me next year.

"Let's go shower," she says as we walk into my bedroom. I pause, tossing my bag onto the floor near my closet, and shoot her a look.

As if we have time for me to blow her back out before dinner.

There's no such thing as a quickie with us. There are multiple orgasms and lots of foreplay involved.

"Not being late for dinner with your parents, baby."

She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip and reaches beneath her jersey, unclasping her bra and dropping it to the floor.

Fuck.

"It'll be a bad impression. I want them to like me," I say, swallowing roughly. I'm fucked. I know it, she knows it. I couldn't tell her no if there was a gun to my head.

Next, the button on her jean shorts is flicked open, and she's dragging them down her hips until they pool at her feet. Stepping out of them, she saunters over to me.

"Guess I'll have to make myself come, then."

Motherfucker.

I reach for the back of my T-shirt and pull it over my head, shedding the rest of my clothes in five seconds flat as she does the same.

We might just make a quickie happen today with how pressed for time we are.

"What is this?" she asks, running her fingers over the small white bandage along my hip. Her gaze lifts to mine, and that cute-as-fuck space between her brows furrows.

I just smile, dipping my shoulder.

"Did you get hurt and I missed it? What happ?—"

"Take it off," I interrupt her. "See for yourself."

Her gaze holds mine for a beat more before she gently pulls off the gauze, realization morphing her face. "Is that…"

Her eyes dart to mine. Piercing green, the most beautiful color I've ever seen. "It is."

"Davis… you got my music tattooed on you?"

I nod as I reach for her, grasping her chin between my fingers. "Music's the most important part of you, Zara, and… you're the most important part of me. I love you."

Tears coat her cheeks, and she shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. "I love you so much. I… I can't believe you did this. It's beautiful."

"I knew that I was in trouble the moment that I laid eyes on you, Zara Andrews. And I've never loved Trouble more."