Page 43 of Getting Played

“Ready, Lainey?”

I take a deep breath and nod.

“I’m ready.”

Then he unties the scarf and slips it off. I open my eyes and look around at butter-yellow siding, a big oak door, a wraparound porch and a calm, stunning lake, teaming with geese in the back. We’re back in front of the Miller Street house.

And I’m completely confused.

Dean kisses me, soft and sweet, like he thinks I know what’s happening.

“Welcome home, baby.”

I look up into his eyes. “I don’t . . . understand.”

His mouth hooks into that cocky smile that stole my heart from the start.

“I bought it.”

“You . . . bought it? The house—you bought this house?”

He nods. “I bought this house.”

Curls of burgeoning excitement swirl like smoke in my stomach.

Oh, my God!

“Can you afford it?”

Dean snorts. “Of course I can. I’ve been living with my grandmother for the last twenty frigging years—what do you think I’ve been doing with my money? Investing it. We’re all good.”

His eyes drift over my face and his voice goes low. “I want to live here with you, Lainey. I want to love you and fuck you and laugh with you . . . and build a life with you. You and me and Jay and Ava and any kids that may come along after—and I want to do it right here, in this house.”

I cover my mouth with my hand. And I bounce up and down. “Oh, my God!”

I call over to Jason who’s standing outside the car with Ava in his arms.

“Did you know about this?”

“Yep, totally knew,” he calls back, grinning. Then he makes a silly face at Ava. “That’s right, isn’t it? We totally knew.” He taps Ava’s palm with his own. “Baby high-five.”

Dean wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me close.

“What do you say?”

And I’m crying again—big, wet, the happiest moment of my life, kind of tears.

I jump into Dean’s arms—wrapping my hands across his shoulders and my legs around his waist. I press my forehead to his and tell him fervently. “I say, I love you, Dean. And I’d be perfectly content loving you and building a life with you anywhere . . . but I’m so, so happy it gets to be here.”

Then I press my lips to his and kiss him with everything I’ve got.

And that’s the story, years later, that Dean and I tell our kids about. The story of how we found it—how neither of us were looking for it—but it was a surprise that we found together just the same. Our forever home, our forever family, our forever love.

The End

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Emma Chase, writes contemporary romance filled with heat, heart and laugh-out-loud humor. Her stories are known for their clever banter, sexy, swoon-worthy moments, and hilariously authentic male POV’s.

Emma lives in New Jersey with her amazing husband, two awesome children, and two adorable but badly behaved dogs. She has a long-standing love/hate relationship with caffeine.

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Also by Emma Chase

GETTING SOME SERIES

Getting Schooled

Getting Played

THE ROYALLY SERIES

Royally Screwed

Royally Matched

Royally Endowed

Royally Raised

Royally Yours

The Royally Series Collection

THE LEGAL BRIEFS SERIES

Overruled

Sustained

Appealed

Sidebarred

; THE TANGLED SERIES

Tangled

Twisted

Tamed

Tied

Holy Frigging Matrimony

It’s a Wonderful Tangled Christmas Carol

Coming next from Emma Chase,

DIRTY CHARMER

a sexy new standalone romance!

Coming soon in ebook, print and audiobook.

To receive updates and details on this new release,

sign up for Emma’s newsletter:

http://authoremmachase.com/newsletter/

Turn the page for a free excerpt!

Prologue

Tommy

When I was a boy, there was a spindly old woman who lived down by the docks. Some said she was a witch. Others claimed she’d had “the sight” since she was a girl. Still others believed she had simply been around long enough to know things. Despite the whispers, and fire and brimstone warnings from the local priest, all the new young mums would make their way over to her rickety shack with their newborns in tow.

To have their futures told.

The story goes she took one look at me and said to my mum, “Drown this one in the river, Maggie.”

She wasn’t a particularly nice woman.

“He’ll be handsome as the devil and twice as charming,” she’d said. “But he’ll be wild, stubborn and foolhardy—and he’ll break your poor dear heart because he won’t be livin’ long.”

My mother never went back to see the old woman after that. Absolute rubbish, she’d say. Because if anyone is stubborn, it’s my mum—and as far as she was concerned, her darling boy was going to live forever.

The kick of it is . . . I’m beginning to think that old woman may’ve been onto something. Because. . . well . . . there’s a good chance I might dead.