A reluctant laugh loosened the tension in her shoulders. She took another bite, a larger one this time, and the knot between my shoulder blades finally eased. But there was a reverence in the way she ate, savoring every bite. Watching her chew like she wasn’t sure when the next meal might come sent a protective surge through me so strong my fingers curled around the edge of the table.
Slow the fuck down, Daughtry. Patience.
When she’d finished half the wrap, I said, “Good. Now the rest, or I’m docking my own pay.”
Her eyes flashed, amusement winning out over pride. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but taking care of the people who take care of me is how I was raised.” My lips lifted at the corners as I watched the color creep back into her cheeks.
I drank the rest of my iced tea slowly, watching her until she’d swallowed every last bite. At some point, I just gave in to the fantasies of seeing that pink mouth wrapped around my dick. But I had to stay sitting, with my hard-on hidden by the table.
When she was finished, she quickly hopped to her feet, mumbled something about work, and dashed off. Chuckling, I left another hundred beneath my water glass. Just as I was about to step outside, Rylin rushed over and tried to hand it back. I lifted one brow and reminded her, “Investing in my own business.”
She rolled her eyes, but this time, she slipped the bill into her apron pocket without arguing.Progress.
I went back to the deli at closing time, staying out of sight. I knew she took the subway even when she’d closed down The Tight Line after one in the morning. Sure, a lot of New Yorkers did it, but they weren’t my girl, and I was determined to make sure she was safe. Her apartment was steps from the station, so I never followed her all the way to her building. I watched until the train doors closed behind her, tension finally easing once I knew she was safe.
On Wednesday, I decided to pitch in and help bus tables. She clearly wanted to protest, but apparently chickened out, choosing to ignore me instead. When I took the bucket of dishes to the back, I noticed that the bracket under one of the shelves was bent. Rylin’s brows hit her hairline when she came through the door and saw me attaching a new one and rehanging the shelf.
“Don’t you have people for that?” she asked, seeming genuinely curious.
“Getting my hands dirty isn’t exclusive to the football field,” I answered with a crooked smile. “I enjoy all kinds of hands-on…activities.”
Rylin scurried away, but not before I saw the blush darkening the freckles sprinkled across her face.
I laughed quietly.Definitely making headway.
That night, I once again stayed out of sight as I followed her to the train and waited until she was safely on.
Then I tossed and turned, like I had every night since I met her. After waking up sweating and painfully hard, I was forced to take an arctic shower, then gave up on sleep completely after yet another erotic dream.
On Thursday, she stopped pretending she didn’t notice me helping at closing. The fancy MBA that I’d earned simultaneously with my bachelor’s degree meant we had SOPs for everything, but I’d also worked construction sites every summer in high school, so swinging a mop bucket felt natural. Rylin watched me from the hostess stand, her hazel eyes soft and arms crossed over her chest like she was hugging herself. I’d taken the job from her earlier with a “don’t bother arguing” look.
She suddenly opened her mouth, closed it, then blurted, “You don’t have to do that.”
I shrugged. “Place is half mine. It’s a pride thing.”
A tiny smile curled her lips. “You’re a professional football player. You shouldn’t be cleaning floors.”
“I hit people for a living. This is therapeutic.”
That earned me a soft, genuine laugh. I continued working, carrying the warmth of it like a fucking trophy.
I rinsed the mop, locked it in the storage closet, and gave her a slow, seductive smile as I sauntered past, very much enjoying the pink stain that appeared on her cheeks.
“Night, baby.”
Ten minutes later, I was a hundred feet behind her on the sidewalk, hoodie pulled up, ball cap low, looking like any other overgrown tourist heading for the subway.
Patience, I reminded myself…again. And once more, when I stepped under an icy spray at three in the morning.
Friday brought another double shift for Rylin and an afternoon thunderstorm that flooded the gutters. She worked through both, sneakers taped so tight across the toes that theduct tape had started to fray. While I was demolishing my lunch, my sister Lexi texted a photo of my nephew playing pee-wee ball, and my mama texted a reminder to call on Sunday after the game. I replied to both, then answered when my little brother Brad called to tell me he’d won his high school football game.
After hanging up, I ordered an extra staff meal and made sure Tammi delivered it straight to Rylin with instructions to give her a message from “Your friendly neighborhood tackling machine—no arguing. Just eat.” Tammi rolled her eyes, but did as I asked, earning me a soft “thank you” mouthed across the room from Rylin that almost knocked me out of my chair.
Later that night, I noticed the flickering security light over the back-door alley. I went to the maintenance closet, grabbed a ladder and a fresh bulb, then replaced it under the hiss of steam pipes. By the time I was done, the damp heat had made my shirt stick to my skin. A small price for Rylin stepping into brightness instead of shadow.
Saturday morning, I limped into The Tight Line at nine sharp, my hamstrings barking from Friday’s full-speed pursuit drill. The place smelled like cinnamon French toast—thanks to the breakfast menu I'd suggested.
