He leans in, breath warm against my ear.
"Babe," he murmurs, voice low enough to make me shiver, "how much longer are we staying?"
"What do you mean?"
His fingers squeeze my thigh—slow. Intentional.
"I'm trying really hard not to drag you back to your room right now."
My pulse drops straight to my toes.
"Zach," I whisper, cheeks heating.
"What?" he asks innocently. "I just want to... celebrate." His thumb slides higher up my thigh, slow and claiming, like he owns the territory and he damn well knows it.
"I mean… privately."
He knowsexactlywhat he's doing.
And exactly what it does to me.
My whole body goes molten. My brain? Gone. Useless and turned to static.
Because Zach being possessive?
Zach touching me like that?
Yeah. That's basically my Roman Empire.
Across the table, some of the rookies are arguing about whether Zach's hit on Tyler should be illegal.
"It was clean," Zach mutters into my neck.
The rest of the guys are rehashing every goal like they're ESPN analysts.
And meanwhile... Zach dips his head again, voice a sinful rumble against my jaw.
"Five minutes more," he whispers, "then I'm taking you upstairs."
My breath catches.
"Why five?"
His lips graze my ear.
"Because if I get up now, everyone here will know exactlywhyI'm walking out."
I choke on a laugh and smack his arm.
"Zach!"
He grins—lazy, wicked, beautiful.
His hand slides higher under the table, making my brain glitch.
"Babe," he says, like a plea and a promise at once, "I need you."
He nudges his nose along the side of my cheek—slow and soft, like he's trying to break me gently.
