I just want to see Tessa the way I've seen every other woman for the last twelve years—unnecessary, unsettling, a distraction I don't need. As anybody else.
And I'm trying to, I am. But I keep forgetting. Because she's not anybody else. She's… her.
And God help me, she's… beautiful. Inside and out.
Tessa moves for the door handle, and panic rushes through me—that same tug I felt earlier. Not just physical—though knowingwhat I feel like between her thighs makes it worse. But there's something deeper that's pulling me closer. Like she's slipping away.
"Tessa," I say, reaching for her.
My hand slinks onto her knee, and her eyes dart to it. I resist the urge to pull it back, and instead, I double down, brushing my thumb against the nylon stretched tight against her lower thigh.
"About earlier…"
Her gaze finds mine, and for a minute it's like everything else fades away.
"Yeah?" she whispers softly—desperately. She releases the handle and sinks slowly back into the seat, her body turned toward me.
"I didn't like your shirt today."
She sucks in a quiet breath, the corners of her lips teasing upward. "Not a flannel guy?"
I huff out a real laugh and naturally lean an inch closer.
"Quite the opposite," I say. "I love a good flannel."
She smiles, but then her wheels start turning. Her face falls as the once-curious crease in her forehead deepens, and the next thing I know, anger floods her expression. "My Holloway shirt was the only clean Gators one I had. I'm sorry if you didn't like it because I was wearing his name specifically, but—"
"Tessa," I cut in before she spirals. "Tessa, no." I sigh, sitting forward, and run a hand down my face. "You don't need to be sorry because you were wearing my replacement's number."
Her jaw's still tight, but her gaze softens slightly. At the same time, we realize my hand is still resting on her knee, but I don't slide it away. She doesn't move either.
I swallow hard, shift my weight against the console between us, and lock eyes with her. "I wasn't upset because it was his, not really. I was upset because… it wasn't mine."
My ears ring from the silence that follows, both of our chests heaving despite not having moved at all. Her eyes flick to my lips, then fly back up, hot and hooded. "But we said…"
"I know what we said," I snap when her words trail off. "And none of that's changed. But what also hasn't changed is the fact that I can'tstop thinking about you—or that kiss or what happened last night." Her cheeks flush. "And that no matter how hard I try, I'm still drawn to you."
I pause, taking in the way her irises darken and her lips fall open ever so slightly. I peer down at her, our mouths merely inches apart.
"Like right now," I breathe. "I'm somehow closer to you than I was five seconds ago. But I didn't move here—not consciously. Or like when I tore my bag apart in the dugout to find anything that belonged to me for you to wear—to cover up another man's name on your back."
My throat tightens as the truth makes its way out.
"I don't know why I did that because you're not mine. But I still want to see you wrapped in my clothes… or in my truck or sitting on my goddamn kitchen island."
My jaw ticks, and her throat moves up and down.
"Fuck, I just wantyou. And I haven't wanted anyone in a long time—not really. Not like this."
Her voice shakes. "Like what?" she whispers.
I blow out a breath, shoving down the hesitancy that's clawing at me.
I've come this far.
"Like we're two ends of a magnet, Tessa," I admit roughly. I reach for her—testing it—tucking a hair behind her ear. When she leans into my touch, it soothes something in me, and I drag my palm fully past her cheek. "I'm tired of pretending I don't feel the pull."
She searches my face, but I don't waver.
