Bastard. He’s fucking right. Of course.
“I haven’t asked someone out since high school prom,” I grumble. Natalia’s footsteps sound on the stairs.
“It’s not like it’s really changed. You just…ask.” Charlie ends the discussion with that, sliding past me to startle a happy scream from Natalia when he jumps out at her at the corner of the doorway.
On the way to the arena, I replay my conversation with Charlie.Just ask. It’s so simple. But as I engage the locks on mySUV in the parking lot, my hands are sweating at the thought. I try stringing together a sentence of what Icouldsay—how I could ask—but it’s as though my brain has lost all vocabulary in the file “asking an attractive woman out.” For the first time since my first practice here three years ago, I walk into the offices nervous as hell.
Inside our locker room, Andy and the crew are finishing their setup, and I’m scanning the space for curly brown hair and a British accent. I don’t see Bea, but I feel it the moment she enters the room behind me. I can’t explain how I know she’s there, but like a vine growing in a garden, I twist toward the source of light.
The sunshine.
My sunshine.
“Hello,solnyshka.”
Bea’s steps falter at my greeting, the skirt of her dress swaying around her knees before she recovers her stride. For some reason, a light blush appears on the peak of her cheekbones, but it’s pushed to the edges of her face when she gives me a warm smile.
“Hi,” she says. Her hand brushes up and down my arm in a casual manner, but goosebumps rise under the sleeve. I swallow thickly and will my own hand not to shake when I use her action to reach for her waist. Without second-guessing myself, I fold her gently against me in a friendly hug. At least I hope it is. It’s strange to feel nervous about something I do with others regularly, but those hugs are casual and don’t have deeper desires attached to them. It’s the first time I’ve hugged her, a realization I wish I had changed earlier, because Bea fits perfectly against me. I try not to shiver with how good it feels when she slides her arms around my sides and up my back, returning my embrace. We hold each other for a moment—even if I wish it could go on longer—and when she pulls back, there’s the briefest crinkle between her eyebrows. “You okay, Nicky?”
“I’m great,” I tell her honestly. The nerves of a different kind, which had been eating me alive before she showed up, have faded. My hands still sit on Bea’s curved hips, my thumb idly rubbing, as though I’m trying to reassure her, and I like that she hasn’t fully stepped from my hold. “Just the usual jitters I get when we do these. But having you here always helps.”
The blush returns to her cheeks, and I can’t help but love being responsible for putting it there. Looking down into her warm brown eyes, which flicker with glints of amber and gold, a certainty fills me: I’m allowed to like this woman. I’m allowed towantthis woman. Doing so doesn’t take away from how I perform as a player or detract from my role as a father. Bea’s presence in my life slips in alongside those two things, and being with her brings out parts of myself I forgot I had. I’m on the verge of asking her to dinner when Andy clears their throat next to us.
“Hey, we’re ready for you.”
Bea gives them a nod and breaks out of my arms, a small, apologetic smile twisting one side of her mouth as she takes her place on the other side of the monitors. I roll my neck, shaking off the interruption to what could have been a huge turning point in our relationship, before I walk to the chair situated under a couple of stand lights. As I sit, I keep my eyes on Bea, who’s chatting quietly with Andy. Then, like she can feel the weight of my gaze, Bea locks her eyes on me and winks. I answer with a cocky smile and know, despite the interruption, I haven’t missed my chance.
“You’re really gettingthe hang of this,” Bea says as we walk toward the parking lot after the interview is over. The heels of her knee-high boots echo off the walls, and I like how every swish of her trench coat sends a puff of her perfume my way.
“Thanks.” I sway a little closer to her, letting my arm brush against hers. “It makes a difference having you there. You look out for me—you’re good at your job.”
Bea slows, and I adjust my stride to stay with her as we approach the door. I step ahead of her to push it open, holding it until she’s outside in the crisp air. An adorable shudder runs through her when a gust kicks up, whipping the edges of her coat around her legs. By all measures, Bea is average height, but at this very moment, shivering in the fading afternoon light and trying to laugh it off, she looks small. Delicate. I don’t think about it when I put my body between her and the breeze, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to tuck her close against me. A content sigh escapes her as we walk together in the direction of her car. I don’t release her, even when the wind dies down. Instead, a thrill shoots through me when her arm slips between my jacket and body to curl around my waist, anchoring me in place until we reach her car.
Reluctantly, she pulls away, reaching for the door handle, and I feel my moment to speak up slipping away. Gently, I block her reach and swallow quickly.
“What are you doing tonight?” The question tumbles out, more clumsily than I would like. “I was going to order pizza—” I cut myself off, realizing my colossal mistake:Charlie is stayingfor pizza with me and Nat.I’m mentally kicking myself, trying to think of a way to retract what I’ve said, when Bea saves me.
“Oh, I can’t tonight.” Her eyes drop, matching my disappointment. Which is crazy, because inviting her over whenI already had planswas a terrible move. I should be happy I’m not forced to make an absolute ass of myself. But the rejection still stings, sharp and quick. Bea sucks her bottom lip in before blowing it out and giving me a pinched look. “I kind of promised Gus I’d come over for movies since Obie is going to his parents’ house for a family dinner. Promised I’d show him how to make cottage pie.”
She moves back toward me, a soft, apologetic smile on her face.
“I’m really sorry.” I like it when it takes her two tries to snake her arm around my middle. I don’t know if it’s from nerves or uncertainty from the way we’ve pushed our dynamic to a new level today. But there’s a kinship in knowing I’m not the only one trying for more. The hold is still casual, not sexual, but I’d stand here all day, basking in the feel of her in my arms. “I’d much rather be eating pizza with you and Nat than mashing potatoes and listening to Gus tell me why Robert Downey Jr. is a better Sherlock Holmes than Benedict Cumberbatch.”
I smile at this, picturing the two of them bickering in the kitchen. The pair are truly siblings separated by the unfortunate reality of being born to other parents. It’s taken some careful attention to learn Bea’s affection for Gus is nothing but platonic—and Gus has admitted as much in the locker room when Leo pressed him about his dating life. Gus and Bea have the kind of friendship I would want with her—if I didn’t know I wanted so much more. There’s an almost domesticity—a give and take—between them I didn’t realize I was missing in my life. That I want to share with someone.
The wind swirls again, catching one of her curls and breaking it free from the clip holding her hair off her face. I reach out for it, tucking the soft, silky tendril behind her ear and letting my fingers trail down her neck to the collar of her trench. I hold the material, keeping her locked in my embrace without putting my arm around her again.
“Cottage pieandSherlock Holmes?” I infuse the question with the ridiculous humor of Gus’ plan. Bea picks up on it, her unique laugh bubbling up from her, raspy and real.
“Just missingHarry Potterto make it even more British, huh?”
“No,” I reply, letting my fingers play with her lapel. “We don’t support the boy wizard.”
“I knew you were more than just a handsome face, Nikita,” Bea says matter-of-factly, before sighing and making a more genuine effort to get into her car. I open it for her, leaning on the door as she gets settled into the driver’s seat. “Rain-check until after Thanksgiving?”
“I think Natalia would like that,” I hedge. Bea’s face flickers, not sad but maybe disappointed, so I add, “I would really like it, too.”
Bea’s smile blooms before she turns the ignition, adjusting the temperature and fan controls. I step back, letting her reach for the door. “Have fun tonight,” I say. “Tell Gus he’s wrong about RDJ.”
