"Hi," she mouthed as she approached, offering a quick wave. "Sorry I've been so busy. This wasn't an event we managed so—"
"So it was a hot mess shit show," Flinn interjected.
"With a side of train wreck," Tatum added.
"Not a problem." I brought my hand to the small of her back. "Not at all."
She smiled at Flinn and Tatum. "I see you've met my offensive line."
"We prefer special teams," Flinn said.
Stella gifted them with a sweet smile before shifting closer to me. "I have to say two things to one person, and then I can go," she said, glancing down at her phone. "Are we super late? Or just really late?"
I rubbed my hand up her spine, thought about skipping that dinner party altogether. I could stand here all night, touching my woman and grinning over the fact she didn't bring dudes to work events. Until now. "Doesn't matter," I replied. "Nick and Erin aren't waiting on us. We'll get there when we get there. Unless you'd rather skip it."
"Nope, not skipping it," she replied, shooting another glance at her phone. "Just give me five minutes to handle a few quick things."
I shifted my hand down as she spoke, over her waist to pat her backside. Squeeze. Pinch just enough to remind her she enjoyed it. Especially there. "Take your time."
She walked away but not without lobbing several heated stares over her shoulder as she went.
"Mmhmm," Tatum murmured, watching Stella. "Yeah. Okay, then."
I blinked at her, confused. "I'm sorry?"
Flinn shook a hand in my direction. "Don't mind her. She's just—"
"She's just admiring some very subtle and very effectively executed public affection," Tatum said, cutting him off.
I wasn't positive but it seemed like these two didn't know how to speak without interrupting each other.
He harrumphed out a sigh, turning his attention back to the crowd. "I'll call Stella's car service," he said, mostly to himself. "They'll pull up right outside and notify me when they're here. That saves you from getting stuck talking to people on the curb, and people on the curb always insist on dragging you along to the after party and then the after-after party, and you don't need that hassle in your life." He tapped his chest. "I do. I enjoy the hassle. When I'm not enjoying other hassles or generally beating my head into walls."
"Thanks, man," I said, offering my hand. That was my game plan: thank him for the assistance, ignore everything else.
"It's the least he can do," Tatum said, sparing Flinn an impatient glare as he pecked at his phone. "We want to see you around again. You're theonlyone we want to see."
"Thin ice, Tate. Thin fucking ice," Flinn said.
Then Stella was at my side, her arm sliding around my waist and her smile warming me through. "Ready?" she asked.
You have no idea, sweet thing.
Stella was a wonder.
I couldn't name the seven wonders of the world but I knew without a doubt she was one of them. How else could she hang with my people—Nick and Alex, and Stremmel and a handful of other random docs and residents—and make it look like she'd known them her whole life? How else could she charm a lopsided smile out of Stremmel, that stone-cold bastard?
She was a wonder and all I could do was hang back, watching her cast spells on my people. I nursed a beer while she peppered Stremmel with questions about his time in California. He gave as good as he got, hitting her with questions about—of all things—the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders.
This was everything I wanted out of a Saturday night and I didn't have to weigh the possibilities of running into one of Stella's past or present hookups here. Motherfuck it, I didn't want to claim this emotion as my own but I hated—hated—the idea of her being with other men.
Not that I had clear evidence she was with them but she hadn't said anything to the contrary. If she'd stopped seeing them, wouldn't she tell me? Wouldn't she run up to me at the trail one morning and announce she'd stopped spending time with her regularly scheduled dudes which meant I didn't have to grind my molars to dust every time the thought of them crossed my mind anymore? Wouldn't she show up at my apartment, gesture up and down her luscious body and then tell me she wasn't for sharing?
I needed those news bulletins. I needed the green light.
And I needed Lucian McKendrick to keep his damn hands off her too. I knew he was a client and I knew there was nothing between them but hell, I couldn't deal with another photo of them together. The smart move would've been for me to stop seeking out the photos but now that I'd started, I couldn't stop visiting the sports news sites and blogs.
As I pondered this, Nick shuffled to my side, tapped his beer bottle against mine. "This is nice and cozy," he remarked. He tipped his chin toward the kitchen island where my future wife entertained my problem child and my excessively diligent resident with a true account of the locker room drama at last year's Super Bowl game. "She's great."
