I drop onto one of the stools, tugging her gently into my lap when she lets out a soft gasp, her hands bracing against my shoulders.
“In case I haven’t told you yet,” she says, watching me closely, “you were incredible tonight. It’s maybe the best I’ve ever seen you play.”
“It felt good being back on the field,” I murmur, my thumb tracing idle circles against her hip. “But seeing you in the stands again . . . that was even better.”
“I never should’ve missed a single game,” she says quietly, regret threading through her voice. Her eyes lift to mine, bright and unguarded.
“It’s okay. You’re back now, and that’s all that matters.” My hand finds her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her sweater, brushing her warm skin. “Which is why I had to make sure I impressed you,” I say with a crooked smile.
“Oh, really?” she counters, shifting slightly on my lap, the movement over my groin driving me wild. “So, all those plays were just for me?”
“Every single one,” I answer, voice low, gaze dropping to her mouth. “Then again, everything I do is for you, Tate.”
The teasing light in her eyes fade, replaced by something deeper. Her fingers slide into my hair, slow and sure, and the faint tremor in my chest turns molten.
“Brandon,” she whispers, and hearing my name fall from her lips like that—soft, breathless—is all the invitation I need.
I capture her mouth with mine, the kiss starting slow, tender, like we’re both afraid to break the spell. But it deepens fast, turns hungry. My hand slips up her back, drawing her closer until there’s no space left between us. Her lips part beneath mine, and I take my time, tasting her—amaretto and sweetness and something that’s just her.
A quiet moan vibrates against my mouth, and it unravels what little restraint I had left. When I finally pull back, her cheeks are flushed, eyes dark and glassy as she looks down at me.
I brush my lips against her ear, my voice barely more than a rasp. “Wanna get out of here?”
Chapter 31
TATUM
The short walk to Brandon’s apartment is silent—and somehow the longest of my life. By the time we reach his door, I’m trembling, nerves and anticipation twisting together in my stomach. Brandon’s face gives nothing away, but there’s a new kind of resolve in his eyes, one that makes my pulse skip as he unlocks the door and steps inside, tugging me with him.
The door clicks shut behind us, the soft sound echoing louder than it should. And then, everything changes.
Brandon’s gaze darkens, heat flashing there as his composure slips. In one fluid motion, he spins me against the door, his arms braced on either side, trapping me in a cage of muscle and intent.
My breath catches. The air between us feels charged—alive.
He reaches up, flipping his baseball cap backward with a slow, deliberate movement, and the sight alone sends a rush of heat straight through me, fire curling low in my belly.
Before I can do anything about it, he presses me into the door, lifting a hand to hook a finger under my chin and tilting my face toward his. I can barely breathe as he closes the gap. No words. No hesitation. Just his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that steals the oxygen from my lungs. It’s possessive, demanding, and so intensely hot that my knees nearly buckle beneath me.
My hands find his shoulders on instinct, fingers curling into the solid muscle as I try to steady myself. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, a silent request I answer without hesitation. The kiss deepens—hungry, consuming—and suddenly I’m lost to it. To him. The taste of him, the heat of his body pressing into mine, the low growl that rumbles from his chest when my nails drag against his skin.
When he finally tears his mouth from mine, he rests his forehead against mine, our uneven breaths tangling in the charged space between us. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and the look he gives me—dark, reverent, wanting—makes my pulse skip all over again.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.
“Am I?” I ask, wondering if this is all a part of the deal, or if he means it.
He nods, the corners of his lips curving into a smile that sends another wave of heat spiraling through me. “And sexy as hell.”
As if to punctuate his words, his fingers find the hair tie holding my ponytail, and he gently tugs it free, grunting as my hair tumbles down around my shoulders.
He threads his fingers through my long locks, his fingers massaging my scalp, and I fight the urge to moan, embarrassed by how the most benign touch from him has the power to unravel me.
“Some things,” his lips brush against mine with each word, “are worth the wait.”
He captures my mouth again, this time with an urgency that makes me whimper. His teeth graze my bottom lip, biting down just enough to make me gasp, and I’m surprised at the jolt of desire that follows.
I arch into him, a pulse of impatience and want coursing through me as his hands trail down my sides, finding my thighs. His fingers tighten beneath me, and in one effortless motion, he lifts me off the ground. A soft gasp escapes me as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist, our bodies aligning like they’ve always known how to fit.
