“I knew he’d finally get it right!” my mom yells.

Charlene nods. “Here I thought Alex was pulling out the big guns with the interview! Everyone’s going to be talking about this!”

As we make our way to the after-party event, my nerves kick into high gear. As awesome and embarrassing as it is to be on the receiving end of a public profession of love, Alex and I still need to talk.

Tonight’s party is a private affair, but the venue is still packed. The crowd is in a celebratory mood courtesy of the win. I accept a tall glass of champagne and sugary shooters, more as a means to manage the nerves than anything else. By the time the Hawks arrive, I’m tipsy.

Alex finds me immediately. “I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here. It makes the win so much better,” he says. His lips brush my cheek, but he doesn’t make another move to kiss me. “I have so much I want to say.”

While a conversation is coming, it will have to wait until later, when he’s not the center of attention and in celebration mode. His teammates and his family swarm him, but he keeps a tight hold on my hand. It’s difficult because so many people want to bask in his glow tonight. I can sense how divided he is by the way he constantly reaches for me, making sure I haven’t disappeared.

An hour into the party Alex switches to water and stops accepting drinks. I follow suit, aware we should be sober for our inevitable talk.

We find Charlene at a table with Darren. Buck and Sunny are cozied up together as well, along with both sets of parents. I look to Alex to gauge his reaction to the way Buck’s arm is casually slung across the back of Sunny’s chair. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem worried. Although, I suppose in the past month, Buck has made it abundantly clear to the media hounds that he’s off the market.

Robbie stands as soon as he sees me, his smile broad as he opens his arms and welcomes me with a hug. “It’s very good to see you again, Violet.”

“You, too.”

He smiles down at me. “I’m sorry my son was a dipshit.”

Alex’s dad is the best. I don’t think he sugar-coats anything. “Me, too, but I think we’re going to try to work it out.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Daisy stands when Robbie releases me. She runs her hands down my arms, her smile soft. She leans in and air kisses my cheek. “He’s been miserable without you.”

It’s Daisy’s version of an apology, and I accept it. “I’ve been miserable without him, too.”

We join the table; it’s cramped and Alex has to put his arm around me so both of us can fit on the bench. The closeness is welcome, as are his whispered words of apology every time he leans in to kiss my cheek.

When the party starts to wind down, Alex makes a call for a car to pick us up. We say our good-byes and leave the bar. Once we’re in the car, Alex gives the driver his address but holds up a hand and turns to me. “I know it’s late and we have a lot to talk about, but I would really love for you to come home with me. I’ll understand if you’d rather I take you back to your apartment.”

The idea of going home holds no appeal, now that I’m here with him. I’d rather figure out how we move forward from this. “I’ll come back to your place.”

The tinted glass divider whirs up, separating us from the eyes and ears of the driver.

Alex takes my face in his hands. “It’s been so shitty without you.”

I put my hands on his chest when he goes in for a kiss. I’m aching for his touch, and my beave definitely wants to hug the monster cock. Unfortunately, if I allow the kissing to continue, I won’t be capable of coherent thought, let alone words. Plus, we’re not actually alone.

“I think we should talk.” I’m all breathy and clinging to his shoulders. It’s hardly convincing.

“You’re right.” His lips are still on mine. “We definitely need to talk.” He softens his kisses as though he’s preparing to stop. I fail to push away. Instead, I suck on his bottom lip, so he maintains a slow mouth fuck. I underestimated how much of an impact he has on me—physically and emotionally. After a couple minutes where I don’t make an effort to pull away, Alex shifts until I’m lying on the back seat.

“Wait!” I cry.

He releases me immediately, and I sit up and move back a few inches so we’re no longer touching anywhere. This helps with the whole perspective and control issue. While the interview explained a lot, it’s not a replacement for a real discussion.

“I can’t do this yet.” I adjust my shirt and try to get my breathing under control.

He runs a rough hand through his hair and scratches his beard. God, it’s sexy. “I know. You’re right. It’s just been so long since I’ve touched you. I’m sorry.”

My stomach drops into my toes. We’re doing this right now. I’ve never done the “we need to talk” without it ending in a breakup.

“What are you sorry for?” Beyond an apology, I want the explanation I never got. Or never let him give me.

“For saying you were just a friend when I should’ve said I’m in love with you. For listening to my stupid-ass agent, who I fired, by the way. For blindsiding you and not telling you how I felt about you sooner.”

It’s a decent list. I want so badly to forgive him and move on, but he ripped my heart out and high-sticked it into the dumpster. “Do you understand how much you hurt me?”