"Good." Rhett took a step closer. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"In the locker room when Mika hid behind me, you looked terrified."
"She was scared of me."
"For thirty seconds. Then you showed her you're both things at once." His hand came up, thumb brushing my cheekbone where the bruise was. "I know you're still scared I'm going to ask you to pick."
I hadn't seen that coming.
"I—"
"I'm not." His thumb brushed the bruise again. "I watched you drop gloves for Pickle. Watched you crouch down with a whale named Kevin and watched you teach eight kids to knit while your ribs were probably screaming. And I want all of it, Hog. The whole complicated mess."
"What if it's too much?"
"Then I'll tell you, but I won't. Because it's not."
"Rhett—"
"I want to kiss you," he said, voice dropping lower. "But there are eight kids in my truck, and your teammates are watching from the window. So I'm going to go home and text you something inappropriate instead. And you'll quit thinking I'm going to bail. Deal?"
My pulse pounded in my ears. "Deal."
"Good." He squeezed my arm once—hand lingering just long enough to make his point—then climbed into the truck.
I watched him drive away, taillights disappearing down the street.
Jake appeared at my elbow. "So."
"So."
"You gonna let yourself have this?"
It was a heavy question. The honest answer was I didn't know. The hopeful answer was maybe.
"Working on it," I said.
"Good." Jake slung an arm around my shoulders. "Now come help Evan with the dishes."
We headed back upstairs. My phone buzzed.
Rhett:All kids delivered. Mika's still asleep.
Rhett:Thanks for tonight. Meant it.
I stared at the screen, then typed:
Hog:Thanks for showing up. Both times.
Rhett:That's what I do.
The following message came through before I could type a response.
Rhett:I meant what I said in the parking lot. About wanting to kiss you.
I swallowed hard.
