I’m close, feeling trickles of ecstasy, when he slows, pumping into me at a leisurely pace. Languidly. I clench my inner muscles and feel the muscles in his back ripple as he responds.

He slides out of me, teasing me with the bulbous tip of his cock, and I let out a throaty gasp. Then he plunges back inside, and I’m over the cliff. Liquid hot pleasure courses through me as I light up like a supernova.

I watch Beck’s face tighten and then relax as he finds his own release.

He drops onto the comforter beside me.

“I want to try,” I whisper when I regain the ability to form a coherent sentence.

“What haven’t we tried?”

I smile, flipping over so we’re chest to chest again. I rest my chin in the groove between his pectoral muscles. “Plenty, but I’m not talking about sex.”

I feel his chest rumble with laughter. “What are you talking about?”

The words are playful, but there’s an undercurrent of curiosity that tells me what I need to say.

“I want to be in a relationship with you.” Beck doesn’t say anything, just studies my face, peering so closely I’m sure he can see every pore. But that’s not why I’m shifting uncomfortably. That’s happening because I know there’s more I have to say. “I mean it. I’m not going to run. I’ll answer your calls. This is me jumping out of the plane, okay?”

Beck studies me for a little while longer. Finally, his expression changes. It’s not triumphant or indifferent. He looks hopeful, and I decide that’s perfect as I twist so I’m half-splayed atop him.

“Okay,” Beck says softly.

Hope never hurt anyone.

As long as you remember: hope isn’t always reality.

“Okay then. We’re in a relationship.” The words sound foreign, but not strange.

“Okay then,” Beck repeats.

I can’t see his face, but it feels like the emotion radiating from it is happiness.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Epilogue

The street is teeming with Adler Beck jerseys, and they’re not just topping torsos. They’re flapping from windows. Spread across tables that line the street leading to Kluvberg’s stadium. BECK is spray-painted repeatedly across the pavement we’re walking along.

“This is insane,” Hallie comments. Matt and our father nod their agreement. They’ve both met Beck before, but I guess meeting someone and seeing their name plastered on every visible surface are two different things.

Despite my many protests—mostly about how I’d enjoy myself more if they weren’t present—Beck insisted on flying my family to Germany for his final match of the season. Sandra remained behind at the hotel with Matthew Jr., but my father, Hallie, and Matt are all making the trip with me to Kluvberg’s stadium for the game.