My breath catches.
“Amy,” I whisper.
Her eyes flick to my mouth. “I’m just ending our date properly.”
My lips part in anticipation. Her hands slide down my chest until they link with my own. Her lips touch mine with a controlled tenderness that’s different from the passion in her apartment.
She’s letting herself test her boundaries without either of us falling apart.
My hands remain tangled with hers. Steadying her while her lips trace mine with soft nibbles before she drags her tongue over my lower lip. The shudder that runs through me causes my mouth to open. She grazes her tongue on the inside of my lip. I dart mine out to let her know I’m receptive to whatever she wants.
Whatever she needs.
When we break apart, her forehead rests against mine. For long moments, we stay just like that. Our breath is intermingled when she whispers, “So, just to be certain, we’re exclusive?”
“Does this mean we’re dating?” I ask, trying to hold back the excitement in my voice.
“Dating,” she confirms.
“Exclusively.” I recall my irrational jealousy seeing another man with her at the grocery store the day she was doing her fundraiser.
“That’s what I need.”
I reply immediately. “That’s what I want.”
Her gaze holds mine. “And if there are problems?—”
“We talk it out,” I say. “And I’ll keep doing the work.”
She studies me like she’s searching for the old me. The one who chose hockey. The one who abandoned her when she needed him most. I don’t flinch under the scrutiny.
Finally, the smile I’ve longed for too long breaks free. “Okay. Now, go away. I still have work to do.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I step back, my hands still gripping hers. Our arms stretch between us. “I’ll call you later?”
Her mouth curves—small, but real. “I’ll answer.”
As I walk down the halls, I realize something that hits me so hard I almost stop in my tracks.
Last night she took care of me. Today she let me in.
The combination has me punching the air in celebration. I feel better than I did when I scored my first goal.
No, I correct myself. Nothing’s ever felt like this.
28
LOW-TO-HIGH: PASSING FROM BELOW THE GOAL LINE UP TO THE POINT
My dates with Brennan don’t feel like dates the way I remember with him. They’re quieter. Less hectic. A lot of that likely has to do with us having been at college parties. But more, I think it’s just who we are now.
We. Such a simple word but has so many complex layers. It should scare me more than it does, but it’s what he and I are.
We’re building something and not just when it’s convenient.
I’m grading papers at my kitchen table when I recall our first date after the kiss in my classroom. It started with a text string where we debated logistics.
King of My Broken Heart :
