I laugh, and his eyes darken with a smoldering heat that coils down, down into the pit of my stomach.
He leans in and I lift my face to his. Our lips touch, the softness of his mouth so welcoming and tender. I slide my hands to his waist, where he’s strong and firm beneath my fingers, the crisp cotton of his dress shirt warmed by his skin. My breath gets trapped in my chest as I lean in a little more and kiss him back. A ripple of heat cascades down my body, creating a tight ache between my thighs. Like a need. His lips are plush and full and demanding, sending my thoughts spinning.
Linden pulls back, a look of playful hunger in his eyes. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, and then he smiles.
“How’d I do?” he asks in a low tone that sends a shiver skating across my skin.
I swallow, and try to smile back, but my legs feel noodly and I’m gripping his waist like my life depends on it. I’m breathing too fast and my poor heart is knocking into my throat, like she wants out.
“What?” I manage.
His cocky grin sends more heat to my core. “Good enough to be my somebody?”
The wedding. Right! “Let’s say I’m very encouraged.”
He laughs, but it’s obvious he knows I’m bluffing. My cheeks are hot and I’m practically panting.
From the ballroom comes the announcement for dinner. Guests begin moving toward the tables, but I don’t move, and neither does Linden.
He brushes the side of my face, and it takes everything I have not to reach up and trap it there. Just to give me a few more seconds of his touch. So I can make sure that kiss was real.
A shaky laugh leaves my lips. With that easy smile still on his face, Linden takes my hand and leads me toward the ballroom. I catch a glimpse of Russel standing in the doorway, a wounded look in his eyes.
Chapter Eighteen
I archmy eyebrow at Russet scowling at us.Take a good, long look, asshole, because this is as close as you’re ever gonna get to her again.
With my hand on Meg’s lower back, I escort her past the tables to the one near the front with our names on the placards. It gives me a few much-needed seconds in motion to tame the wildfire blazing through me thanks to that kiss we just shared.
After almost two weeks of anticipation, I should have been ready for it.
But the second her lips touched mine, I forgot to breathe.
And now all I can think about is kissing her again.
Even as warning signals are flashing at me.That feeling of losing control is not your friend.
At our table, I pull out Meg’s chair for her. When she settles into it, her silky hair brushes my wrist, sending another electric charge over my skin. I can’t help but give her shoulder a gentle caress as I pull away. It’s like I can’t help myself. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t normally do that kind of thing. At least not without a pep talk first.
We’re seated with her Dad, stepmom, and two couples, one of similar age and the other younger. There’s lots of football talk as waiters swirl all around us delivering salads while on a giant screen facing us, a slide show starts to play. Some are of Coach James as a fresh-faced assistant coach, and others are more recent, his hair more gray than blonde, with a few personal shots of him sprinkled in between the endless stream of team shots and action photos. Traveling. Huddles. Training.
Next to me, Meg talks to the younger couple on our left, her cheeks a rosy pink and her hands moving as she talks and laughs. Under the table, my thigh rests against her knee. Normally I would try to reposition so my long legs aren’t in anyone’s way. So I don’t react if someone accidentally brushes against me. But I don’t shift away from Meg. I want her close. I want her warmth.
It's not a feeling I’m used to, and it’s not exactly welcome. I know my aversion to people getting too close isn’t normal and to some, it’s even offensive. But I’m hardwired to need a lot of space. It’s the reason I got into so much trouble as a kid. I didn’t know why I was so angry, so ready to hit, until Dad gave me permission to take the breathing room I needed. To protect myself.
Then Greta arrived, and holding her became the most natural thing in the world. For a time, I opened myself up to Kelly, too, but just like us, it didn’t last.
I peck at my salad without really tasting it while also trying to carry on polite conversation with the guy next to me and also keep tabs on Russet sitting with a group of guys a few tables away. Whatever game he’s playing with Meg ends now, whether he’s ready or not.
On the screen flashes a picture of Coach James with Darienne. She’s in a long sleeved white dress and he’s in a suit, both of their faces lit up, happy. Their wedding picture?
Kind of an odd pick for a slide show highlighting his career, but what do I know?
The salad dishes are cleared and the steak entrée is delivered. Clanking silverware mixes with the merry din of conversation. I’m distracted by the screen again—another image of Coach and Darienne, dressed up and seated at a fancy restaurant.
It catches Meg’s attention too. She frowns.
I lean closer. “Something wrong?”
