She could suffocate me at this moment, and I would die the happiest man. Unfortunately, the distraction does little to halt the fact that I’m about to come in my boxers—something I haven’t done since I was in middle school, making out with Becky St. Claire behind the bleachers at a high school football game.
“Crew!” Bailey cries out, her hands fisting in my long hair as her walls tighten around my fingers.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me. Let me see you fall apart, baby.”
“Oh my…” she moans as her back arches.
I slow my movements, crawling over her body to wrap her in my arms as she comes down from her high. It takes her a few minutes, but she turns to look at me as I brush my fingers through her hair, her body sated, her eyes dazed, a small grin growing.
“That was…”
“Perfect,” I tell her, pressing my lips against hers. Thankfully, she doesn’t pull away as she tastes herself on my lips.
Bailey’s legs intertwine with mine, and I know she can feel the hardness pressed against her hip.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of that?”
“Maybe next time. Right now, I just want to lie with you in the moonlight.”
Bailey cuddles closer, and as a shiver passes over her, I grab another blanket and drape it across our bodies. I won’t let her stay up here long, but right now, the moment is too perfect to move.
“This is nice,” she mumbles, her voice heavy with sleep.
This is exactly how it should be.
Words I say to myself, and one day, I’ll bring myself to say them to her, too. For now, lying with her like this is more than I ever thought I deserved.
Chapter Sixteen – Crew
In the early morning light, I turn to go, hoping to fend off more small-town rumors. The universe, which has a timing I both resent and respect, chooses then to make my phone vibrate. I glance down.David.
Of course.
Bailey watches my face shift. “You can get it.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie.
“It’s not nothing,” she says gently. “Take it.”
I swipe. “Hey.”
“You see PR’s email?” David’s voice is all brass tacks and calendar invites. “We’ll loop local press into the story hour. Soft optics. Good for rehab narrative.”
“No press,” I say immediately.
“Crew—”
“No press,” I repeat, quieter, in a voice I don’t use with anyone else. “This is for kids. Not for cameras.”
He exhales sharp. “You’re leaving juice on the table.”
“I’m leaving room for breathing.” I look at Bailey. She isn’t listening, not exactly. She’s giving me privacy by staring very hard at the window we just fixed, lips pressed together like she’s studying a text only she can see. “Set it up with the school only,” I tell him. “Make it easy. If they say no, we don’t do it.”
Silence, the kind that means he’s reorganizing his strategy. “Fine,” he says at last, clipped. “But you’re throwing for the official team doc and GM in Nashville on Monday. No more delays.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, and my chest answers yes and no at the same time.
I hang up. She looks at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”
