“Hell yes…”

He smiled and stood to his feet, pulling me close and kissing me like only he could.

My back hit the wall in between breaths, and he tightened his grip on my waist.

“Was there any reason why you’ve made the past few days difficult?” he asked, giving me a chance to breathe. “Were you wavering on giving me a second chance?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s what it felt like,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “I was prepared to go through my entire list of romance scenes.”

“How many did you have?”

“Twenty.” He smiled. “Then again, I wanted to go through at least a hundred before attempting the one from today.”

“Deep down, I think you’ve always loved that movie.”

“Then you need to think again.”

We both laughed.

“I wasn’t trying to make things difficult,” I said. “I honestly would’ve taken you back when you asked me while I was on the tarmac.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I was waiting until you asked me on a Wednesday.”

* * *

The End

Epilogue

One Year Later

Boston, Massachusetts

I signed my name on the new lease for a beautiful glass building downtown. Set on the corner of Fifth and Turner Avenue, it overlooked the stadium where Kyle played every Sunday.

Unlike the other media giants in the country, I allowed everyone on my team to cover the sport that they were most passionate about.

I never required double bylines and I made sure that every person was writing their own articles.

“An order for a Miss Johnson?” A deliveryman suddenly stepped into the lobby.

“That’s me.” I motioned him over so I could sign for the large green box.

When he was gone, I tore off the paper and found a single sheet.

* * *

Suggested Headlines That You Should Use

* * *

Kyle Stanton is The Best I’ve Ever Had (That’s Why He Gifted You with a Win)

* * *

Kyle Stanton Scores as Many Orgasms as Points In His Second Super Bowl Win

* * *

How I Knew That Kyle Stanton Would Win The Super Bowl Again

* * *

I laughed and called Kyle.

“Yes, Court?” he answered on the first ring.

“The playoffs haven’t even started,” I said. “I can’t write the headlines this early, and they’re a bit too inappropriate for me to publish.”

“Is it because of the word ‘orgasms’?”

“It’s because I’m not a fortuneteller, and I can’t predict who is actually going to win the game.”

“Well, I do,” he said. “And I’m trying to save you some time, since there won’t be much time for you to write when I’m finished.”

“Are you still coming to help me christen a few surfaces before your final practice tonight?”

“Of course.” There was a smile in his voice. “I’m in the garage now. Let me up.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“You can recover for as long as you need to …”

* * *