A sharp, hot burst of pleasure rockets through me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
Seconds later, he jerks, shudders, then stills inside me.
As I pant, I kind of can’t believe we just fucked in the dressing room.
But I also can. Especially considering how we started back in October, when he pressed me up against a door in a trailer. This feels like the culmination of that.
Somehow, several minutes and a few tissues later, I’ve cleaned up and we’re at the counter with Corbin plunking down his credit card.
“Thanks for everything,” he says. “I really appreciate the customer service.”
I smother a laugh.
“We strive to make sure all your needs are met,” Mr. Ruiz says with a straight face, his mustache barely twitching.
I fight off another laugh, but impulsive me wins, since I blurt out, “Me too.”
We’re at Happy Cow in Hayes Valley, and I’m eating a quinoa bowl as Corbin slices a piece of salmon, then says, “I’m having a good season.”
It’s a bit out of nowhere, but I go with it. “You are.”
“I didn’t think I could manage it all. Charlotte, hockey, the business. Everything.”
I’m not sure where he’s going and if it’s someplace good or bad, so I just nod for him to keep talking.
“But I think when I stopped fighting my feelings, I was able to…relax on the ice. Have fun. Handle it all,” he says.
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling a little glowy.
“And you—you’re kicking ass at the bakery.”
I think of Dottie. Of the chess guys. Of Abe and even of Joni, who’s asked us about supplying cookies. And of my mother, and her request to cater the faculty event. “I am,” I say, and it feels good to admit that. But he’s played a huge part too, so I add, “Actually, we both are.”
“It’s mostly you making it happen, Mabel,” he says.
I couldn’t have done this without him though. His investment, yes. But also his faith in me. And his seriously delicious recipes. “You might be more behind the scenes, but we’re doing this together.”
“We’re good partners.” He sounds so certain, so unafraid. And once again, he has a calming effect on me. He takes another bite of his salmon, then a drink of water, before he asks, “How’s the bed?”
Something about the shift in topic amuses me. “Perfect,” I say.
“How were your holidays?”
“Good.”
“Will you go on a date with me? A real date.”
I freeze, fork midair. “You just asked me on a date?”
“I did.”
“We’re not just business partners with benefits?”
“We’re not.” It’s said decisively, brooking no argument. It’s hardly a question. It’s more like a decision. “This was a date today. You should date me again.”
Clearly, he’s not worried about balance. He just said as much. But still, I’ve got to know this one thing. “You’re not worried about us running a business together?”
He sets down his fork. “First of all, see above. The answer is no. So what do you say?”
