Holt: Great. I will pick you up around eight. If you want to see the openers, my cousin Larissa would be happy to let you go with her and I could meet you at the stadium later.
Me: I’m happy just to see Kelvin McCoy!
Holt:… with me. You’re happy to see Kelvin McCoy with me. Right?
Me: Yes, with you. But Kelvin McCoy!
Holt:I heard he’s a dick in real life.
Me:Don’t ruin my vision.
Holt:Be ready at eight.
Me: I will. Thank you!
Holt: You’re very welcome.
I grab my computer and race to the shower.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Blaire
Barridge Stadium is boisterous.
Throngs of people are packed into the baseball stadium. Chords of music play intermittently over the speakers set up on either side of the stage in the outfield. A giant screen, black for the time being, is stretched out behind the platform that Kelvin McCoy will take in a matter of minutes.
Holt leads me down the aisle toward a baseball field that’s been turned into a country music concert. I dodge elbows from inebriated attendees and dirty looks from women who see Holt first, only to realize that I’m right behind him.
He looks and smells incredible. How a man can look this good after working for twelve hours—or more—is beyond me.
His ass fills out the back of his tan dress pants. Broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his blue and white striped shirt. The collar is undone, and his tie is missing, and I can’t imagine how women get any work done around him all day.
I’m watching him and not where I’m going when a foot juts out infront of me from the side. The edge of my heel catches on it, and I plummet forward.
“Ah,” I squeak as I slam into Holt’s back.
He turns, surprised, and quickly wraps one arm around me.
I look up to find him searching the area around me.
“What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
His eyes find mine, and he grins. “Well, pay attention before I get into a fight.”
My skin burns with the intensity of his gaze. It’s almost electric tonight.
Our conversation on the way over was friendly and fun. He gave me crap about my love for Kelvin McCoy and Beau McCrae, a country music singer who’d just finished his set. I teased him about being jealous. Despite the airy banter, something was different.
I felt it. I think Holt did too.
My brain told me it was because I put it into the universe that I would consider something more serious with him. I’m seeing things I want to see. But then he brushes his hand against mine or dips his fingers into the small of my back, and I swear I feel an intimacy to his touch that I haven’t felt before.
“Don’t get into a fight until after we watch Kelvin McCoy,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be thrown out of here too soon.”
His grin turns mischievous. “What do you like about him so much?”
