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Crew keeps hold of my hand, and I don’t let go either. We step into an elevator and then out into another hallway, this one carpeted and plush. Full-size photos of players line the walls.
“Antonio, can you give us a minute?”
The man accompanying us—Antonio—nods and keeps walking down the hallway for a few dozen feet before stopping.
I glance between him and Crew. “What is it?”
“I need you to wait in here.” He opens the door to our left, revealing an empty suite overlooking the field.
My eyes narrow. “Why?”
He sighs. “The team owner…well, he’s a dick. His father ran things when I got involved, and it’s been a rocky transition. I was hoping to avoid him. Someone must have told him I was here.”
“I can handle dicks.”
Crew’s smile is brief. “Ican’t. He’ll hit on you, or worse, and I’ll hit him.” His voice is grim honesty. “I’d just gotten access to my trust fund when I invested in this team. It was a stupid whim, and I’m lucky it paid off. My involvement is minimal. If it becomes a mess, it will be a real pain in the ass.”
“You could just, you know,notpunch the guy,” I suggest.
“I’m not going to stand by and let someone insult you.”
“It sounds more like he’d becomplimentingme.”
He exhales. “Please?”
That’s what gets me. Theplease. I’m curious to meet this guy. But my inclination when Crew asks me to do something has become to listen, not to argue. So I agree. “Okay.”
It happens fast. There’s less than a foot of space between us, so Crew only has to take one step forward before his lips are crashing into mine. It’s nothing like an obligatory farewell kiss. His tongue teases mine. His teeth tug on my lower lip. His hands pull my hips flush against his.
The sigh when he steps back is heavy with regret and annoyance, neither of which appear to be aimed at me. “It’ll be quick, okay?”
He’s striding away toward a waiting Antonio before I can reply. I wander into the suite, feeling a little dazed. It doesn’t appear anyone watched the game from here today—everything is spotless.
I walk to the far end of the suite, looking out over the field. This is a very different view than the one from the edge of the grass. The entire field is spread out in a symmetrical rectangle, green grass separated by stark white lines.
I snoop around the suite. Drink some water. Answer some work emails. Sophie texted me this morning, asking about getting together. Aside from one short brunch weeks ago, I haven’t seen her or Nadia since my wedding. I reply, suggesting they come over to my place for a girls’ night next week. My mother responded to the photo I sent of me and Crew in Paris with an invitation we come over for dinner soon. I don’t know whether to be resentful or appreciative of the effort. Anything regarding my parents usually comes with strings attached. Before Crew and I got married, requests to see me were usually predicated on events where they thought my absence would be offensive.
Finally, Crew returns. Alone, Antonio has disappeared.
“Sorry. It took longer than I thought it would.”
I stand and walk over to him. “It’s fine. Meansyourinvestment is doing well, right?”
His smirk has nuclear side effects. “Right.”
My plans for a quick exit rapidly rearrange. I have no idea why I notice the details I do. Crew has a single freckle beneath his left eye. A dark brown circle that is slightly thinner at the top than the bottom. Not perfectly round.
“Are you ready to go?”
My response surprises us both. “No.” This outing was all him. To plan, to control, to end. Suddenly, I don’t want it to.
To Crew’s credit, he reacts fast. “You discovered a deep love of European football?”
“Not exactly.” I press up against him, forcing him back. He doesn’t have to acquiesce, but he does. I guide him back to one of the couches and down.
Crew’s eyes are molten pools of blue as he realizes where this is heading. It’s good—fantastic—for my ego.
I straddle him and discover he’s already growing hard. I feel heady with power as I rub against him. He hisses and grabs my hips. “Favorite position?”
