“Anytime,” I say, and mean it in at least six reckless ways.
We pull up at her building.The lot is nearly empty, the neon pizza sign down the block buzzing into the dark.I kill the engine and hustle around to open her door because my mom raised me with manners, and also because I want one more excuse to touch her.
We take the stairs slower this time.She leans into the banister, one hand on my forearm for balance.At her door, she slips the key into the lock and turns toward me.
The hall light throws a little halo over her hair.Her eyes are tired but bright.Her mouth… Yeah, I’m a dead man.
“Good night,” she says, soft and proper and probably expecting me to follow the rules I made her make.
“Good night,” I echo, shoving my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach for her like I’ve been wanting to since the first click of her heel on the first step of the first stair.
She tilts her head, reading me, always reading me.“CJ?”
I step in, slow enough for her to change her mind, fast enough so I don’t.One hand at her waist.The other cups her jaw, thumb tracing that damn-perfect cheekbone.Her lashes lower.I angle, she rises on her toes, and our mouths meet.
It starts like a promise.Soft.Careful.A first sip.
Then she exhales against my lips, and I forget every rule that ever existed.I taste something sweet, champagne or her, I don’t know, and deepen the kiss.She opens, lets me in, fingers curling into the lapel of my jacket like she plans to keep it.I kiss her the way I guard a net in overtime.Total focus, zero doubt, absolutely certain that this is the only thing that matters for as long as it’s happening.
When we finally break, her pupils are blown, her breath a little unsteady.My heartbeat is loud enough to draw a noise complaint.
“Research,” I say hoarsely, because I’m an idiot and jokes are my emergency exits.“For the… pretending.”
“Right,” she says, but her voice is wrecked, and her hand is still fisted in my jacket.She doesn’t let go.
“We raised a lot of money,” I manage, because I need to remind us both why we did this.“You did that.”
“We did that,” she corrects, fingers smoothing the fabric she wrinkled.
I dip to press a quick, reverent kiss to her forehead because I can’t help myself.“Sleep,” I tell her.“I’ll text you about the totals in the morning.”
“Don’t text me at six a.m.,” she warns, the director returning, the girl who kissed me pausing just behind her eyes.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”I step back before I do something like ask to come inside and forget how to leave.
She fits the key again.Looks at me over her shoulder.“Good night, CJ.”
“Good night, Olivia.”
The door closes.The lock clicks.I stare at the wood like a lunatic for a full five seconds and then pivot, hands on my hips, a grin I can’t kill spreading across my face.
I take the stairs down with a spring that would make my PT scold me.In the car, I sit there for a minute, forehead against the steering wheel, and laugh quietly to myself like a man who just got away with something and can’t wait to do it again.
My phone buzzes.Team chat is a mess of photos, donation figures, and heart emojis from wives and girlfriends.A separate text from Logan that says,Proud of you.Don’t make me regret it.
I thumbs-up him and type to Olivia.
CJ:You were the star.Pasta class is ours.Wear clothes you don’t mind getting flour on.
Three dots appear.Disappear.Appear again.
Olivia:Thank you for tonight.
I lean back, staring up at the faint halo of the streetlight on my windshield.
Not pretending,I think.Not even a little.
Then I put the car in gear and head home, smelling like her shampoo and champagne, already counting the hours until I can see my Princess Angel Baby again.
