“Thank you,” I murmur, brushing my mouth over hers. Yeah, we’re in a public place where anyone who knows us or our family might see us, but right now, I can’t give a damn. Not when her lips part and her tongue is already sliding forward to tangle with mine. That ever-present hunger is there, simmering under my skin, but the kiss is gentle, tender.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers, her breath grazing my lips. She smiles, and I feel it curve over my mouth. Another, separate caress.
Reluctantly, I let her go and step back. It was foolish to risk the chance of someone catching us. But as she threads her fingers through mine and tugs me toward the stadium, I don’t regret it.
Today, I’m going to be selfish because tomorrow, I’ll be letting her go again.
There’s no altering who we are.
But for a little while, we can be…not us.
…
“I had the best time,” Eden announces as I twist the key in the ignition four hours later.
I snort. “You mean between heckling the ump, eating your weight in hot dogs, and hitting that old man in the back of the head with your foam finger, you actually watched the game?”
She laughs, and the warm, joy-filled sound echoes in the interior of the truck.
“I’m going to be honest. I don’t watch a lot of baseball. And good God, it’s loooong. But,” she adds, “I had a great time. I’m glad we went.”
“Yeah, me, too.” I nod and snatch one last look at Wrigley Field. Funny, how I don’t live far from it, but for years, I’ve actively gone out of my way to avoid it. Now, I’m staring at it like a long-lost friend.
Yeah, today was phenomenal. The best I’ve had in—fuck, too long to remember. To be relaxed, my only concerns drinking my beer before it got too warm and whether or not Chris Bryant would continue his on-base streak? It’d been…good for me. And God, fun.
Several times during the game, I almost told her about the upcoming exhibition event. But several times, I stopped myself. I didn’t want to ruin the magic of the day, because instinct even now warns me she might not be supportive of me returning to MMA, even if only for one match. Not after having a ring-side seat to her husband’s death in the ring. She’s never been as vocal as Mom about my former career, but she’s also never asked me about it. Matter of fact, she’s never mentioned MMA, the BFC—except in terms of incorporating it with the shop’s marketing—or if I even miss fighting.
So again, when I have the chance to bring it up, I don’t.
Instead, I focus on the past few hours.
My world has been centered around the shop. In the last two years, it’s felt like a sin to just be happy. Because Connor couldn’t. But my little brother wouldn’t want me to live this half-life in tribute to him. I can hear him now, roaring in my ear, “Fuck that, bro. Ride this thing until the brakes fall off.”
“You know what? No fair bringing up my hitting the older guy,” Eden objects, laughing and dragging me out of my head. “I apologized, and he was sweet about it.”
“Right. And when he squeezed your knee? Was that sweet, too? He was feeling you up.” I shake my head, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You probably made his year.”
“Nah, Jim was harmless.”
“Jim?” I bark out a laugh. “You’re on a first-name basis with him?”
“Yeah, we’re friends now.” My eyes are focused on getting us safely through the after-game traffic, but I hear the smile in her voice. “He usually brings his grandson to the games, but James started college this year and can’t come with him like he used to. So, he was just a little lonely. He actually invited me and ‘my young man’ to come to Sunday brunch with him and his wife Holly next week.” I glance at her, and she rolls her head on the rest to meet my gaze. “He said you don’t talk a lot, but any man that passionate about the Cubs has to be a good one.”
“Your young man?” I ask, trying to keep the dark, aroused growl out of my voice. But just hearing the possessive phrase turns me on. I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel so I don’t jerk this vehicle to the side of the road and show her and every driver on the road what being hers would be like.
“Yeah.” That softly spoken word strokes over me, through me. “He assumed we were together.”
“Did you correct him?” I glance at her again, needing to see her expression when she answers. Thank God I’ve pulled to a stop at a red light, because I can’t say with a certainty that I could tear my attention from her.
For a long moment, she doesn’t reply, just returns my stare. The pulse at the base of her throat beats, and I want to feel that butterfly-wing flutter on the tip of my tongue.
“No,” she admits, so hushed that if I wasn’t straining to hear it, if I wasn’t studying her mouth to see it, I would’ve missed her response.
“Why?” I press, my tone full of grit. “Did you want him to think you were mine?”
Her espresso eyes go impossibly darker, and they drop to my mouth, my chest, to my thighs where my cock is doing a damn good impression of a steel bar.
“Yes,” she breathes as the light changes to green. “For today, yes.”
