He didn’t ever bring real dates to this shit. He’d have his agent hook him up with a model or actress who wanted the publicity. And that always turned into him having to smile for too many photographs and his date being bored out of her mind after forty-five minutes.
But things were naturally easy with Bridget. Standing beside her, letting his fingers dance along the skin of her bare back, lit him up inside. When she sent him a smirk or even just met his eyes, silently sending him a message, it felt really fucking good.
“Here you go, sir.” The bartender pushed the glass of pinot and the bottle of Stella across the bar. Ryan dropped a tip into the jar before grabbing both in his left hand.
His right hand was tucked into the pocket of his tux pants. Mostly so he didn’t move it. The swelling in his elbow was worse, and after last night’s game, the pain was more frequent. He moved across the room to the woman who drew him in like a magnet.
“It’ll be fun.” Bridget smiled at the woman who ran Covenant House, the Metros spotlight charity for the year.
“Maybe you can convince this one to make an appearance. That will be one hell of a draw, especially for the ladies.”
Ryan couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but he knew exactly what she’d just conned Bridget into. He cringed, a quick flash of worry hitting him. Would Bridget be upset about “the ladies” comment? That was the exact problem Declan always had with his ex.
But Bridget listened intently to the woman, a small smile on her face.
“I’m a new baseball fan, but even I know the Metros play through September, so you’ll have to be happy with just Aidan and me,” she assured.
“Spending a night in Times Square?” Ryan asked after the woman had turned to join another conversation.
“Raising money to fight homelessness in teens in New York by spending the night on the streets? I think it’s a cool idea. And it’s definitely a great thing for Aidan to experience.”
Bridget had straightened her hair for the event. He missed the corkscrew curls, but she always looked stunning no matter what. She’d put them a little behind schedule. Although it might not have been the hair that did it. Bridget ran late for everything. It turned out the years he’d spent waiting on his sister to get ready worked out for him; he long ago learned five minutes probably really meant fifteen.
“The Metros have a home game that night, so I’ll be in New York.”
She tilted her head to the side, and he stood waiting for her to ask, but she didn’t. A crease appeared between her thin, dark brows, and her lips pursed, advertising that she had no idea where he was going with the conversation.
“I think I’ve said it three times now. Where you lead, I’ll follow, baby.” He raised his eyebrows at her.
“You want to sleep in Times Square with Aidan and me?”
He nodded.
“You want to make a commitment to do something with me inSeptember?” she asked.
At that question, he waited for unease to hit him. But that feeling in his gut didn’t come. Hedidwant to make a commitment with her months in the future. Instead of dread, he felt a warmth growing in his chest. This wasn’t just a for now thing for him. He was playing the long game with her. She fit in his life; it was working, and he wanted more of it.
“Of course I want to be with my girlfriend.” The word popped out before he’d consciously decided to use it, but it felt right. Until he saw Bridget’s eyes go wide with shock. His stomach sank. “Too soon? Because we don’t have to use labels if you’re not there.”
The backpedaling kind of sucked because he really wanted to double down on his declaration. But not if it made her uncomfortable.
Her dark brown eyes bore straight into him like she was searching his soul. He lifted his hand and rested it on her neck as he traced her cheek with his thumb.
Finally, she nodded, a hint of a smile peeking through. “Labels are good.”
He couldn’t have stopped his grin if he tried. “Hell yeah, they are.”
Two hours later, Bridget rested her head against his shoulder as they lay tangled together in bed. He couldn’t stop the other—bigger—labels from flashing in his mind.
“Ryan,” she breathed. “I lived in New York for six years. I went to NYU.”
“Okay,” he said carefully. The admission seemed like a simple one, but the quiver in her voice told him otherwise.
“With my ex-husband, Eddie.”
He gritted his teeth at the thought. He knew she had been married, but talking about him while he lay in bed with her had his hackles rising. She glanced up at the TV, where her favorite show was playing. He’d never seenGilmore Girlsbefore last night, but this mother-daughter duo wasn’t terrible. After a few moments, she focused on him again, but only his chest, not meeting his eyes. She traced over his mountain range tattoo before crossing to follow each scallop around the blank space over his heart. He relaxed, taking slow steady breaths and rubbing her back softly, waiting for her to open up.
“I was a freshman; he was a junior. Our relationship moved really fast—way faster than I was comfortable with, but every time I tried to slow things down, he’d manipulate me into feeling wrong for not wanting to get married after four months or for wanting to wait to start a family.”