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Because it was defiant and made it seem like I was hiding something.
Joel knew it, too. He wrapped that arm even more tightly around me, tugged me somehow closer. “That’s not it,” he said, still in my ear, bent over so far to reach it that he couldn’t possibly be comfortable. He didn’t let on to that, though. Didn’t straighten. Instead, he just kept talking. “But I’m not going to push, sweetheart. Not today.” He straightened, tugged one of my curls. “I’m just happy you’re smiling.”
“Why?”
It was a question that just flew right out of my mouth, but, also, it was a whispered inquiry. One he shouldn’t be able to hear, especially with the noise surrounding us on the sidewalk.
He stroked a finger over my cheek, answered. Because, of course, he’d heard. “Last time you weren’t.”
Okaaay. I didn’t know what to do with that.
“And,” he whispered, something I shouldn’t have been able to hear, and yet I did. “Baby, you’ve got a great one.”
Okaaay again. I still didn’t know what the hell to do with that.
His thumb pressed lightly against my bottom lip.
Then he turned and walked away.
It took me several minutes to recover, and thankfully I did it climbing in the back of a Lyft that Joel had led me to, shielded me to, and spent the drive sandwiched again by Dessie and Bailey.
And when Ididrecover, I realized he hadn’t let me go until the crowd had thinned out.
Twenty-Five
Joel
I’d left her looking rocked to her core, walking away from her for a change.
But no less intrigued.
No less drawn to her.
I’d bailed on the dinner we were all supposed to go to. Quitting while I was ahead, while I had that soft.
Not wanting to piss her off and cause her to retreat and—
Just basically quitting while I was still ahead.
Plus, I’d had to get on the bus early the next morning, had to drive to a game, the first in a series of them on a road trip that was finally ending tonight.
And…I wanted to stay ahead.
I needed to continue staying ahead.
But I’d left her with that for a week, I was heading home, and now I figured I’d better pull out the big guns…or at least, to up my texting game.
Which was why I’d typed out about a dozen texts to Billie Rose.
None of which were right.
Which was why I’d also deleted about a dozen texts to Billie Rose.
And was currently staring at my phone like it held the keys to the universe—or, at least, like it was going to gain self-awareness and help a man out, help me write something that was amazing and would make Billie magically appear in my bed when I got home, begging me to fuck her.
“Shit,” I muttered, dropping my hand—and my cell—to my thigh, and closing my eyes, lulled by the rumble of the bus’s engine, by the swaying motion as we drove along the dark highways. No fancy, chartered flights for our team. We spent long hours on the road. Close together—sometimestooclose together.
Case in point?
