Page 45 of Chasing Clouds

“Do you play an instrument?”

He sets my hand down and reaches for the other. “No. Football has always been my thing. For some reason I’ve always been able to run really fast, and look at my hands—they’re huge, better fit to hold a ball than an instrument.” He does have really large hands . . . hands I’m certain could do magical things to me.

“Do you have a picture of him?”

“Yep, he’s the musician in the photos I have framed and hanging around the condo.”

I turn around and look through the sliding glass doors, over to the dining room wall, where there’s a black and white image of a three-man band.

“My mother dated a few guys over the years and some stuck around longer than others, but the only male constant I’ve ever had in my life was him.” He chuckles. “He wasn’t super friendly, he hated kids, and the only thing he ever talked about was music. He never asked about our day, our friends, or our life . . . it was music or nothing. I suppose we’re friends now, but back then he barely tolerated us. We were loud and rambunctious, but he never turned us away when we showed up at his door.”

“Where is he now?” I turn back to Reid and see he’s fondly looking at the photo.

He takes a deep breath and shifts back to me. “Still living across the hall from my mother.”

“Wow. Does he still play in a band?”

“As far as I know.”

“Is this him playing now?” I point toward the stereo in the condo.

“No, this is just a playlist I put together a while ago. Hold on, I’ll put him on.”

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he taps a few times and then the song changes. Soulful piano music reaches us on the patio and is shortly followed by a solo trumpet player. The music is seductive and hypnotic, and as his gaze lands on me, the air around us seems to warm, becoming charged.

“In all the years I’ve listened to his music, I’ve never played it purposefully for someone else,” he says as he lays his phone on the small table between us and stands.

Strangely, of everything we’ve shared over the last week and a half, this—his confession about the music—suddenly feels the most personal. There’s vulnerability and wariness present in the lines across his forehead and around his eyes, and I can see how his past is colliding with his present.

“Dance with me.” His voice is rough as he reaches for my hand and gently pulls me up into him.

My heart starts racing as I step closer and wrap my arms around him. His shirt is so soft and so clean, I worry about getting him dirty, but he doesn’t seem to care. His body wash, deodorant, shampoo—all of it swirls around me as I breathe him in. He smells like him, what I’ve come to associate with him, and it smells so good.

Resting my face against his chest, I feel his steady heartbeat under my cheek. His hands run from my neck to the base of my spine as we sway to the music, and I can’t help but close my eyes as I soak in this moment. I know this isn’t a forever type of relationship and these moments are fleeting, but standing here in the golden warmth of the setting sun and being wrapped up in his arms, I take as many mental pictures as I can. I want to remember this and him forever.

Too quickly, the song ends and silence falls over us. I pull back and look up at him, but he doesn’t let me go. Long eyelashes sweep down as his hooded eyes drop to my lips. The muscles in my stomach clench in anticipation of feeling his mouth on mine, and I lick my lips. A low groan escapes him as he bends forward. His thumb rubs across the wetness of my bottom lip and he pulls it down, but instead of kissing me, he pulls me flush against him and lays his head on top of mine.

BILLY’S HOUSE IS on the water, on Davis Islands. It was originally built by a baseball player, but once he retired from playing, he decided to move. Billy, who had just signed a nine-year contract with the Tampa Tarpons, decided to put down some roots.

“Oh, you’re here!” Missy squeals as she comes barreling toward us. I knocked on the door, but instead of waiting, we just walked in.

“Hey, Missy.” I pull her in for a hug. “Thank you so much for all of this. We really appreciate it.” I glance at Camille and narrow my eyes. She’s slipped into the role she knows how to play so well, the socialite role . . . and I hate it. Her back is straight, her shoulders are pulled back, and she’s smiling at Missy, but her lips are closed. She’s perfected that perfect closed-mouth smile you see on actresses and well-known people. They carry it around like it’s their permanent facial expression.

“Are you kidding! It’s not every day we have newlyweds on the team.” She’s beaming from ear to ear and her gaze bounces back and forth between the two of us.

Pulling Camille tight up against me, I squeeze her hip and she gives me a confused look then looks back at our host. “Missy, I’d like to introduce you to my wife.” My voice catches on the last word, and Camille picks up on it as her eyes shift from Missy to me.

“It’s so nice to meet you. Billy and I just adore Reid, and we are so happy for him.” She leans forward and gives Camille a quick hug even though my arm is still wrapped around her. “Of course, it would have been nice if he’d told us about you before the wedding so we could have celebrated then.” She backhands me in the stomach harder than necessary and I let out an unexpected oof.

“Don’t blame him.” Camille jumps in and places her hand on my chest. “If you’ve seen any of the press about where I come from, you’ll understand why a little bit.”

“Girl, no explanations are necessary here. We’re just excited to have you. Come on in, I want to introduce you to everyone.”

“Okay.” Camille goes to pull away, but I clamp down on her.

“Missy, give us five minutes. We’ll come find you.” I nod reassuringly.

She looks at us, smiles brightly, and then heads off into the house.