“I need to go to the ladies’ room.” Her lids lower. “Want to come with?”
“Hell yeah. You aren’t going anywhere alone here.” I drain my beer, throw a wad of money on the table, and take her hand as I stand. “Follow me.”
We pass several tables of players, and they murmur hellos. I barely notice. I’ve missed her, and she’s here. She came to me.
I stop at the restroom, and she tells me that she doesn’t really need to go, butdo the stalls lock?
My cock thickens. I tug her farther down the hall, open a door, and usher her inside, then lock the door.
“A private room. Cool.” She takes in the couch, the cowhide rug on the floor. Two televisions play football games. One shows hockey.
“Do wicked things happen here?” she asks.
My arms cross over my suit. “You have to be a member of the Baller or know someone. So who have you been here with?”
“You’re jealous, boo. Tsk, tsk.”
“Yes,” I grind out. “Immensely.”
She closes the distance between us and laces her fingers around my neck. “I like you all growly that I was here with an athlete, but I only fall for artists.” Her lips trace up my throat as her fingers rub the scruff on my jawline. “This is so sexy.”
“Who was it?”
“Brogan. He dated a basketball player.”
“Did you see me?”
A small smirk crosses her face. “Yes. Not on purpose, of course. I just happened to be here. You had two girls draped over you.”
“Why didn’t I see you?”
She presses her nose to my chest and inhales. “Sadly, I’m too short.”
I chuckle, my fingers sliding through her hair as I hold her scalp.
“Hey, I’m glad you came to find me. I fucking missed you.”
“I missed you.”
Over the texts, we somehow grew closer? I don’t know, but I know what I need from her right now. I gaze at her rosebud lips. She’s never let me kiss her on the mouth, and I need it.
“Kiss me. For real,” I murmur as I touch her lips. “Show me you missed me.”
Her eyes hold mine, uncertainty in their depths. “Tuck ...”
“Hmm?”
Her eyes fill with water, and I tug her closer, pressing her face into my shoulder. “Hey, don’t do that. I can’t have you crying over it.”
She pulls back, her eyes searching my face. “No, it’s not that; it’s just ... there’s something I should tell you.”
“What?” I cup her face gently. “You have a phobia of kissing?”
“No. I want to kiss you.”
Our gazes lock for several moments. She bites her bottom lip, a vulnerable expression on her face, maybe a touch of fear.
“Hey, baby, come on—don’t. It’s nothing, okay. Forget it—”