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His hand squeezes mine as his entire body begs for forgiveness. Does he regret kissing me? I don’t think so. I think it’s more like he regrets liking it. But that can’t be right, can it?
“Simple seems to be a luxury we can’t afford right now,” I say, the words tasting like a truth I’m not ready to face. How can I with how my skin tingles when he touches me? We resume walking to the parking lot.
“Complicated isn’t necessarily bad, right?” He stops just before his car, turning to look at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. I swear there’s a flicker of hope in his gaze, but I’m unsure if that was real or just my overactive imagination.
“Maybe not,” I say. But even as I acknowledge the spark between us, my mind races with why this can’t happen and why I can’t let myself fall for Blake Morton. “We did say we’d have to kiss, for appearance’s sake.”
“That we did.” Mirth dances in those blue irises as I slide into the passenger seat. Before he closes my door, he leans down, full dimple on display. “I’m sure someone was watching.”
It didn’t take long before we were parked and standing outside Barton’s. The noise from within spills out and wraps around us. Eyes wide, I take a calming breath, but it is useless. There’s no going back after tonight. Whether or not I’m ready, a good portion of Cessna U’s student body parties inside, with girls waiting to judge our every move.
“Let’s just get through tonight,” Blake says, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.
“Sounds like a plan.” I sound more confident than I feel. This is our—what did he call it—a hard launch, and I’m already blurring the lines between real and pretend. But I can’t stop my mind from racing. It’s in overdrive, overanalyzing what the touch on the back of my hand means. I swear, it speaks more like a promise than a fake relationship.
And those are dangerous thoughts.
Ones I don’t have the time to entertain.
I wish Maddy were here with me. She wanted to come, but she had family obligations this weekend. It would’ve been good to have another ally besides Ryan. I have a feeling the women will swarm him.
The thrum of bass pulses against my ribcage, mixing with chatter and clinking glasses as we step into Barton’s. Blake’s hand is still in mine, warm and steady, as he navigates us through the crowded bar.
“Let’s get our drinks before joining the guys.”
I nod and follow beside him as we carve a path to the bar. Just like at the arena, pats on the back and congratulations from the patrons slow us down. Blake smiles and gives his attention to every person, clearly in his element. It’s easy to see why he’s so popular. He has a way of making everyone feel special. I file that revelation in the back of my mind.
With our drinks in hand, we weave our way to the corner booth, where his teammates are already in full celebration mode.
“Look who decided to show!” The voice cut through the noise, sharp and teasing.
“I told you we’d be here.” Blake nudges Easton aside, and we slide into the booth. He places his hand on my thigh so casually it’s as if we’ve been doing it for years. My body zings back to life.
“Hey, Amanda,” Ryan says, chased by a chorus of welcomes.
I force a smile and exchange greetings, feeling the weight of everyone’s stare on us—on me. I sip the bitter brew. Its chill bites my tongue, but it does nothing to cool the heat lingering from Blake’s touch.
“Hey, Duke,” Easton says, nudging Blake with his elbow, “Remember when you said you’d do a victory dance if we won? The floor’s all yours!”
Laughter erupts around the table. Blake rolls his eyes, playing along. “I think I left my dancing shoes on the ice. But keep dreaming.”
“Don’t let him off that easily. I’ve seen his victory dance; it’s something out of a ‘dad at a barbecue’ highlight reel.” I’m totally lying. I have never seen Blake dance, but I wouldn’t mind watching him shake those hips.
Another roar of laughter fills the air, and Blake shoots me a mock glare. “Traitor.”
I widen my smile and shrug. “You brought me here.”
He laughs, but it’s cut short as a group of women sidle to our table. One leans across in front of me to be near Blake, her tits spilling right in my face. I almost choke on her overpowering jasmine scent.
“Great game, Captain,” she purrs. “How about having a celebratory drink with us?”
His arm finds its way around my shoulders, casual yet possessive. His mouth opens, but I cut whatever he says off.
“Sorry, he’s got a strict post-game regimen. Involves a lot of brooding and replaying every pass in his head.” I don’t know where that retort originated, but I have an overbearing need to protect him. It is my job, after all.
“Oh, shit,” someone says. Andrew, I think?
The corner of her mouth draws into a half-smirk, but she backs away. Finally, I can breathe. Although her flowery scent lingers.
