"I'll do that," I lie. "But I have to go. Someone needs help."
"Talk later, dea—"
I hang up before she finishes, dropping my phone to the counter. "Pigs will literally grow wings and fly to space before I take Sidney to dinner over there," I growl.
"Over where?"
I jump, spinning to the left to see Sidney standing on the far side of the library counter, watching me intently with his arms crossed over a faded Timberwolves tee that clings to his body. His hair is damp, like he showered recently.
"My mother's," I groan, massaging my temples. "She's seen the photos."
"She called you?"
"Unfortunately." I drop my hands, sighing. "She wants me to bring you for dinner before the wedding."
"Ah."
"That will not be happening."
"You heard," he says, his expression grim.
"Heard? Heard what?"
He sighs heavily, his jaw pulsing, and then shakes his head. "Come here." He holds a hand out to me.
"Right now?" I dart a glance around the library, but it's mostly empty this afternoon. Wednesdays are the one day a week we don't schedule activities. It's always the slowest day of the week.
"Right now," Sidney says, his lips twitching.
I hurry around the counter to him, not even hesitating to burrow into his arms when he opens them for me. His scent wraps around me, loosening knots all over my body. God, he feels like safety in the wildest way.
"You're stressed out," he murmurs, rubbing my back.
"Maybe a little bit." I peek up at him. "Talking to her always stresses me out."
"Is that all it is?" His gaze scans over my face like he's trying to root out all my secrets. "You sure there isn't more to it?"
"I…" I huff out a breath. "Maybe there have been like ten different people here today, asking me about you."
His lips compress into a hard line. "Reporters?"
"Curious patrons." I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, not sure I like his expression. "I didn't tell them anything, if that's what you're worried about."
His gaze snaps to mine again, crackling with heat. "You think I care if the whole world knows you're mine?"
"I…"
"I'm not ashamed of you, Hattie," he growls, tipping my head back. "And I damn sure won't allow you to be ashamed of yourself, either. You're perfect. But—"
My stomach clenches.
"For your sake, perhaps we should lay off the photos for a while."
I'm not sure why that stings when I usuallyhatebeing photographed or in the news, but it stings anyway. Maybe because, for once, I don't hate it entirely. Even knowing that half the world is probably talking crap about how I don't fit with him or deserve him or whatever…I like knowing that I'm the one on his arm in the photos from dinner.
It made him feel like mine.
You're playing with fire, a little voice whispers.
