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They both watched as the front door opened with Maeve pulling her in for a hug. Another wave from Willa, a look that could sour milk from Maeve, and then the door was shut.
He turned back to Ashley. “I think she had a good time.”
“She did. You really didn’t need to drive us home.”
“You’d have preferred the limo?”
“It had Skittles.”
He chuckled and rubbed his mouth. “I’m glad you came. It was nice seeing people in my seats.”
“Someone said you don’t usually have guests.”
Of course people had noticed. “Tara?”
“No, someone else. Casey, I think. Though I thought Tara was your friend.” The unspoken “and more …” at the end of that sentence was loud in the quiet of the car.
No way would he be sharing the fakery of his original relationship with Tara. Another one of his screw-ups that just made him look immature and completely unworthy of this woman.
“When we were together, she usually attended the games in the owner’s box. That’s more her style. And now—well, she doesn’t need to sit in the players’ section when she has a comfy seat beside her husband. She took up one of my seats tonight because she’s nosy.”
Ashley held his gaze. “But you haven’t offered them to other people? Isn’t this your second season with the Rebels?”
“The people I know are mostly on the team and anyone else is kind of temporary. I haven’t wanted to invite anyone before now.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling more and more like an idiot with each passing second. “I liked looking over my shoulder and seeing you there.”
Was it his imagination or did Ashley move incrementally closer?
“I liked when you looked over your shoulder at me.”
His pulse went bananas. “You did?” The words were rusty, barely formed.
“I need you to kiss me now, Dex.”
“You do?” She did! So kiss her, idiot.
He closed the gap. Lips mere millimeters from each other, and the anticipation was so, so sweet. He’d never been so nervous about his kissing technique.
He’d never used the words “kissing” and “technique” in the same sentence.
Their lips met. The kiss exploded, caught fire, and burned through his soul.
This is why I fucked up. So I could meet Ashley.
He pulled back an inch, met her heavy-lidded gaze. “I need to touch you.”
She nodded, a hot puff of air escaping her lips as her hand palmed his chest.
Every voice in his head, his dick, and his balls urged him to go straight for her tits. He was a boob man, always had been, and Ashley was possessed of an amazing pair. But he also wanted to be respectful. They were parked outside her house, in her neighborhood, with her family nearby.
Instead his hand curved around her hip, which should have been a poor substitute, but even that was enough to make his cock thick in his sweats.
“This okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He went back in for more of her sweet taste, claimed those lips and deepened the kiss, all while his palm mapped the exquisite curve of her hip. He coasted a hand down to her ass. She felt amazing in his palm, the perfect fit.
“Dex. More.” She moved his hand to under her top, like he needed directions. He was Dex Fucking O’Malley! He could find a nipple in a freakin’ snowstorm.
