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A tightness builds in my chest as the distance between us becomes a problem. I want to grab her and put her in my lap just so I can feel her body against mine. The thought hits hard enough to visibly rattle me.
With a sharp inhale, I get up on shaky legs and head for the bar behind our box. I need something way stronger than beer right now if I’m going to make it through the rest of this game.
I yank back the heavy red curtain separating our box from the private dining room we had dinner in a couple of hours ago and step out. There’s no line at the bar, which isn’t unusual. Not during the last period of a close game.
A young guy with slicked-back blond hair is behind the bar, his back to me, eyes on the TV on the wall that’s showing the game. I catch the arm of the ref shooting into the air before an offside call against the Warriors is made. The corner of the bartender’s mouth tips up.
“Crowns fan?” I ask him as I lean my forearms on the marble bar top and tap my knuckles against it. He spins around, raising two thin blond brows at me. “Whiskey neat, please.”
He nods and collects a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from a glass shelf behind the bar. “That obvious?”
“It was either that, or you just have no idea what an offside call is. If you did, you wouldn’t be smiling.”
“Busted.” He laughs and pinches the neckline of his Warrior’s T-shirt. “Wearing this shirt makes my skin itch.” Setting a glass on the bar, he fills it with two fingers of whiskey and pushes it to me.
“Thank you.” The glass is smooth in my palm as I grab it and bring it to my lips, collecting a heavy mouthful before swallowing. My stomach warms as it settles.
“I always took you as a vodka kind of guy,” a smoky voice says behind me. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I could swear there’s a teasing tone to the words.
I set the glass back down but don’t face Scarlett when she settles beside me. Her closeness startles me, and I swallow hard.
“I’ll have the same as him, please,” she tells the bartender. I can sense the second her attention falls back on me by the sudden rise in temperature around us. “You missed Tyler’s blocked shot. Hit him on the side of his foot.”
“Is he okay?”
The bartender slides a glass toward her, and she hums. “Yeah. He was still out there when I came to find you.”
“I didn’t go far,” I say.
A pause and a slow exhale. “Why did you go in the first place?”
I tap my fingernail against my glass. Telling her that it was her that spooked me isn’t really an option right now. Even if I wasn’t her boss, it wouldn’t be appropriate. Right?
My beard is rough against my skin as I scratch my jaw. I’m so clueless when it comes to women now it’s embarrassing. The last date I went on was when Cooper was six, and it was a complete disaster.
Not that I shouldn’t have known better than to use a dating app to try and find a genuine date, because really, I should have. But at the time, it seemed like the easiest way to dip my toe back into the dating pool.
I haven’t dated since that app nightmare, and not because I’m not interested in it, but because I have Cooper to think about now. Introducing him to anyone, knowing there’s a chance that we—or specifically Cooper—could lose that person later on after a strong relationship is formed terrifies me.
Not to mention that even finding someone who is not only open to the idea of my son but also being with a man as career focused as I am has been an impossible feat.
Annoyance pinches my stomach. I used to be on the receiving end of a lot of female attention, to the point I wouldn’t spend more than a night with an empty bed if I didn’t want to. And I know I haven’t completely lost my knowledge of sexual chemistry and attraction because I feel it with Scarlett. I know I do. It’s strong, hard to ignore. But that’s not where this—whatever this is—between Scarlett and me can go. There have been no clear boundaries set, but maybe there should be.
She might be completely out of reach, but my body doesn’t seem to care. And that’s dangerous.
“I had to take a phone call,” I blurt out. My voice is strained, and from the way Scarlett scoffs, I know she doesn’t believe me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her tipping her glass back and downing her drink. “Right. I’ll let you get back to that, then.”
I’m taken aback when I reach out for her and grab her wrist, stopping her when she tries to walk away. She swings her head in my direction, and our eyes collide. “Don’t go back yet.”
She presses her lips together, looking torn. Desperation floods my system and pushes me to get her to stay. I brush my thumb over the skin of her wrist and smile softly.
“Have another drink with me. A real drink. The other two will be fine alone.”
“Fine,” she agrees. I release a breath. “But a quick one. I don’t want to watch the final minutes of the game on a tiny screen.”
“You have my word.” With a nod, I order her another drink and finish mine off. When I push my empty glass away, her eyes catch the motion.
