“I don’t know, baby,” I finally say, the endearment feeling as natural as his arms around me. “But the fact that you can’t should be all the proof that you’re too good to stoop to his level.”
“But then what?” Frustration bleeds into his voice as he pulls away, propping his hands low on his hips. “I just do nothing? Let him get away with it? Let him think he can do it again?”
I shake my head, an idea forming that’s too perfect to second guess. I might not know exactly how to handle this, but I know someone who will. “No, you focus on Bea, and let me assemble the Avengers.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You stay squeaky clean. Keep playing perfect hockey, being the model reformed bad boy, the supportive big brother. And meanwhile…” I mentally scroll through my friends and associates, pinpointing at least four excellent resources off the top of my head. I smile, feeling even more confident that this is the way forward, as I add, “I’ll consult my experts in feminine rage and holy retribution. Then, I’ll get back to you on the best way to hit this guy where it hurts, while still keeping Bea safe.”
Understanding dawns, smoothing Baylor’s brow as he nods. “Okay, so…Makena?”
“Among others. I come from a long line of troublesome NOLA women stretching back seven generations, Mr. Nix. I have connections. Clever, diabolical, crafty, and cunning connections.”
His lips hook up. “I bet you do.”
I cock my head, grinning up at him. “I do. I also have a troublesome ancestor buried right here in this very cemetery. I brought some zinnias from the garden in my purse to leave in her urn. Want to meet her?”
“I do.” But when he reaches for my hand, he makes no move to start back down the path. “Thank you. For assembling the Avengers and for meeting me. You didn’t have to. That’s not part of our agreement, but I really appreciate it.”
“Of course,” I murmur. “What are friends for? If I were in a tough spot, I know you’d do the same for me.”
Without missing a beat, he nods. “I would. Anything you ever need. All you have to do is ask. And I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t have to ask.”
It’s more than a promise.
It’s a vow, the kind you make to a teammate or a brother-in-arms.
Or to the woman you love…
Maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel strange at all when he pulls me in for a kiss.
It’s gentle at first, a grateful brush of his lips against mine that I return with silent assurances that there’s nothing fake about the support I’m offering right now.
Then, his arms tighten around my waist, and my palms skim up his shoulders. The kiss deepens, but not in our usual fire and reckless decisions kind of way. This is focused, intentional, deliberate, the kind of kiss you can’t brush off as “heat of the moment” after the fact.
This isn’t a momentary loss of control; this is another step down a road neither of us was planning to travel.
But when we pull back, and he cups my face, studying me like a line in a favorite book he never wants to forget, I can’t bring myself to push him away. My will to haul protective boundaries back into place is running low on gas.
Dangerously low…
I’m going to have to do something about that.
Soon.
But for now, I loop my arm through his and show him where one of the troublesome Delaney women is laid to rest, wondering if Marjorie is rolling over in her grave at me falling for the wrong guy all over again.
Or maybe she’s proud.
Proud of me for finally starting to realize that a chance at real love might be worth the risk.
Thirteen
NIX
Tuesday
Awin is a win, but damn…if a 4-0 shutout doesn’t feel a hell of a lot more epic than a 2-1 knuckle biter.
