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His lunge knocks me off my feet.
We fall together, but Reese twists, catching me on his heaving chest.
“Dangerous,” his caveman rasp hits deadlier than that pitch.
My heart judders. “You... Why…”
“Why?” Reese snaps.
He flips our positions in a stomach-clenching roll.
I land on my back.
Reese braces over my head, a knee tucked high between my legs.
Panting, he tugs off my batting helmet.
Then he lowers himself.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Until his chest grazes my peaked nipples and his dark eyes burn so bright, he melts me to the floor.
“Little butterfingers,” Reese purrs. “Why’d you wear my hat?”
I choke on chocolate.
I forgot.
Solomon was never a safe disguise.
Least of all from him.
My question hangs.
Thought patience was my virtue.
Nah.
Not since my little buddy reappeared and punted Serafina’s bougie ass.
Only Solomon ever made sense for our pack.
“Why?” I spit back her question, hurting for the answer.
I would’ve held back. Not pressured her.
But then she walked out of our nest, dressed all fresh and clean except for my motherfucking hat. No more fake green eyes. No more makeup. Just clean skin rubbed in my scent and no other alpha’s.
Sol hits with the same heel pop as ever. The same me-against-the-world swing.
I want to wrap her up until she remembers.
It’s us against the world.
Ever since the first time Solomon slept in the dugout and asked why I wasn’t going home. Easy answer. “I never had a home.”
