Without a word, I hold out my hand and Gareth takes it, winding our fingers together and lifting me out of the truck with the opposite forearm, holding me close for several seconds, kissing my forehead and swaying, before finally leading me toward the house.
A loud cheer goes up and I stumble backward, caught off guard. Thankfully, Gareth must have anticipated my surprise, because he moves just in time, my back landing against his chest.
"There she is," shouts the coach, holding up a bottle of beer. "The MVP of today's game. They didn't know what hit them in the second half." More cheers and whistles. "If being an heiress doesn't pan out, you've always got a job as an assistant coach." Everyone laughs at this, including Gareth, amusement rumbling in his chest. "To Renee," the couch barks
