Aldridge’s hands were made for signing contracts and cutting ribbons. Nice to look at, but impractical. And he held mine like it was a prop—like we were posing for a “Couple Goals” campaign. All polished performance.
Holding Sean’s hand is nothing like that. How ironic is it that Aldridge is the one I was in a real relationship with, yet holding Sean’s hand already feels more natural than Aldridge’s ever did?
Or is thatIfeel more natural? More authentic?
“You on board with skipping the meeting?” Sean asks, pulling my attention from his hand to his mouth.
“Sorry, I was distracted. Why are we skipping exactly? Don’t I need to defend my ownership of the team?”
“Didn’t you do that yesterday?” he says with a nudge.
A smile pushes my cheeks up.
We climb the stairs to City Hall. The steps are cracked in places, with old ivy snaking along the side rails like it’s trying to dress up the aging facade. The brick exterior could use a good power-wash, but the lawn is freshly mowed, and a row of flowerpots adds an oddly charming touch. Right before we go inside, Sean stops me and puts his arms around me. There are a handful of people around, so it makes sense for us to have some PDA right now.
What doesn’t make sense is how much I enjoy the feeling of his hands on the small of my back, pressing me close enough to be convincing to any onlookers.
My pulse triples as Sean looks down at me. “I know you’re still learning about sports, Boss, but the best defense is a good offense.”
I smile, because I actually get what he’s saying. “Maybe that works in hockey, but I have it on good authority that in baseball, hitting wins games, but pitching wins championships.”
“You really are in the right sport,” he says, putting his lips right up to my ear. “You and that big, beautiful strategy brain.”
His nearness makes my eyes close.
No, I mean, other people’s nearness makes my eyes close. Because this is for show.
No one needs to know how much I’m enjoying it.
“How many kisses do we get per outing again?” His words whisper against my skin, sending goosebumps up and down my arms.
“Get? You sure you don’t mean permit?”
“I said what I said.”
My thoughts coil around us like smoke but vanish on the wind just as quickly. All of my awareness is centered on three points of contact: his hands splayed on my lower back. My hands at the nape of his neck. And his lips at my ear.
Goodness gracious.
I close my eyes, trying to focus. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”
He chuckles and presses his lips against my cheek, letting them linger there long enough to feel him inhale and exhale against me. His warm breath sends a wave of tingles down my neck, straight into my chest.
“Oh, right. You get one kiss per setting,” I say so quietly, I’m not sure he can even hear me. “Use it wisely.”
His beard rubs against my cheek, and the sensation brings my hands up to his face, my nails finding the soft whiskers, brushing with the grain. Sean tightens his grip on me.
Then he plunges his face in my neck and kisses, making me squeal. “I’d rather keep you guessing,” he says before letting go of me.
He grabs the door for me, and I smack his shoulder as I pass and bite my lip—so I don’t bite his.
Pull yourself together, I tell myself.
The inside smells faintly of lemon cleaner and old wood floors that look like they’re original to the building. Light streams from second story windows into the open lobby. A plastic pot of fake sunflowers sits at the front desk, trying too hard.
And right beside those fake flowers is …
Serena.
