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It’d been more than that since the night of the dance. The night I unknowingly volunteered with seventh graders and had more fun than I’ve ever had at a club or VIP event. It changed the second I realized Alexandra was the first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing I thought about when I went to sleep. I had this churning, almost desperate need to hear her voice, to hear whatever unhinged, beautifully blunt words would leave her lips.
Desperate to kiss her again, to feel her against me again.
But I couldn’t.
We couldn’t.
Not now. Maybe not even after I completed my sessions with her.
I just had to make my heart, brain, and dick understand that.
“I’m here!” Alexandra’s voice carried over the crowds of excited fans filing into the stadium. My heart lifted in my goddamn throat at the sound, at the relief barreling through me at the sight of her rushing through the crowd, politely saying excuse me as she rushed toward me.
“I’m here,” she said again, slightly out of breath as she reached me. “I am so sorry I’m late,” she continued, shaking her head. “Traffic was awful. I legit almost abandoned my car so I could run here.”
“I’m glad you didn’t do that,” I said, my voice almost failing me as I took her in.
She was breathtaking in a pair of blue jeans and a Charleston Hurricanes jersey, the soft material hugging her curves in all the right ways. Her long black hair was tied back in some sort of fancy style that left every inch of her smooth face exposed, her bright blue eyes sparkling in the midday sun.
Goddamn, I thought she looked beautiful in the little black dress she wore the night of the dance, but this? This might be my favorite look. There was something about seeing the logo of the team I owned on her back that opened up this primal need inside me, like I owned a little piece of the happiness that was dancing across her face as she glanced excitedly at the stadium.
“You’re right on time,” I said, smiling at her as I opened an arm to lead her through the ticket stands and into the stadium.
“We’re sitting behind the dugout?” she asked, her voice a little breathless.
“You told me to do what I normally do,” I said, a bit of pride streaking through me and making my chest puff out just a bit at how impressed she looked. “I have the owner’s box, but I enjoy being close to the team, and being behind the dugout is where the actions at.”
“It must be nice to be this close to the team,” she said as we made our way down the concrete stairs toward our seats.
“It is—”
“Hey, Berkley!” someone shouted from above and to the left. “You gonna knock out any more fans, you fucking prick?”
I spotted the culprit and clenched my jaw so I wouldn’t respond.
“Go back to your penthouse and leave us to watch the game in peace!” the man next to the first guy shouted.
Adrenaline crashed down my spine, the urge to smash something washing over me like a tidal wave. I took a steadying breath, rationalizing that these two weren’t worth my time, and blew the air out of my lungs slowly.
Alexandra watched me with careful, sympathetic eyes, but made no move to speak or interfere. I knew she was cataloguing my reaction, as she should, but it was hard knowing she was clocking my every move. Either way, I did what I’d normally do—I grabbed the nearest staff member walking the stands offering concessions to fans, and pointed out the two men to them.
“Everything they want is on me,” I instructed the staff member, and they nodded, recognizing me easily. “Enjoy the game guys,” I called up to the pricks, then turned my focus back to Alexandra. “We’re there.” I pointed at two empty seats right behind the dugout.
She nodded, and we both did our best to ignore the round of boos lobbied my direction as we headed to our seats.
Fucking hell, the baseball cap was doing shit to hide me from the people closest to us, and they weren’t pulling any punches.
Not that I had either when it’d come to that bigot.
“Maybe coming here today was a bad idea,” I said, settling into the seat next to Alexandra.
“If you’re uncomfortable, we can go,” she offered.
I studied her. “You’d leave a prime spot like this?” I motioned to the field, to the players in front of us.
“In a heartbeat,” she said without hesitation. “I love the Hurricanes, you know that. But this isn’t about a game for me. If those assholes are getting to you,” she said, motioning to the crowd across from us that had finally let up on their angry shouts toward me. “Then let’s go. They’re not worth your time.”
