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That single look... it was everything. And I knew that no matter how hard or demanding college got, we’d be okay. Because this girl—this beautiful, intelligent, driven woman—was mine.
Jason
The Rooftop was a fancy restaurant with incredible views of the city. The floor-to-ceiling windows made it feel like you were dining under the stars, even if it was too cold to sit out on the terrace.
“That was amazing,” Felicity let out a contented sigh as she placed down her silverware.
“I thought we could have dessert to go.”
Her cheeks pinked as my mind filled with images of her laid out beneath me. “Jason, stop.” It came out a little breathless.
“What?” I smirked. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.” Her brow went up.
“Excuse me,” a voice said, and I shot the balding guy approaching our table an irritated look. “I hate to disturb you, but are you Jason Ford?”
“He is,” Felicity answered for me.
“My son is a huge fan. He’d never let me hear the end of it if I told him I saw you and didn’t ask for an autograph.”
Fuck. He wanted to do this now? When I was thinking about pulling Felicity into the nearest bathroom and eating her for dessert?
“I wouldn’t usually ask, but my son, well, he’s sick. It’s been a tough year and I just know this would make his day.”
Double fuck.
“Here.” Felicity leaned over and handed me a clean napkin while the guy thrust a pen into my hand.
“What’s your kid’s name?” I asked.
“Daniel. He’s eleven, followed your whole career.”
I uncapped the pen and scribbled a message before handing both of them to him. “Would you like to get a photo?”
“That would be... thank you,” he stuttered, digging out his cell.
Felicity came around to us and took the phone. “Say Quakers.”
I bit down on my cheek to stop chuckling.
“I took a couple.” She handed him the phone.
“Thank you so much. My son will be so excited.”
“You tell him to stay strong.”
“I will, and thanks again.” He sniffled, and I could see the flash of pain in his eyes.
Shit, was his son really sick?
Something twisted inside me.
“Wait,” I exhaled. “Maybe I could try to organize tickets for you to bring him down to a game.”
“You could?” The guy went slack jawed.
“Yeah.” Grabbing another napkin, I asked for the pen back and wrote down our PR’s number. “Call this number tomorrow and they’ll get you set up.”
