“But you love the panna cotta at that restaurant,” Rafael said. “Also, I’m still waiting for my wife to greet me as enthusiastically as she did the plebe.”
She went to peck him. Rafael, as usual, turned it into a real kiss, slow and thorough.
“Not in front of your godson,” she chided, heat crawling up her neck as he let her go.
Rafael appeared amused. “The boy should be taking notes.”
“I’m a grown man,” Nico said. “Don’t you see this beard? I shavedthis morning. And we have a game to finish.”
“Mind if I watch?” Bea asked.
“You sure you want to see your husband get annihilated, tutor lady?”
Bea snorted, sank onto the bench, and propped her chin on her palm like she was about to tune in to her favorite telenovela. “I’m sure.”
The ball snapped out of Rafael’s grip. Nico was halfway to the basket before Rafael even turned. The shot hit glass, rimmed once, then dropped.
“Yes!” he crowed, arms raised. “You see that, Bea?”
“That was actually impressive.”
Rafael retrieved the rebound. “Not bad, but don’t celebrate yet.”
“I’m not celebrating,” Nico shot back, looking like he was a millimeter away from flossing.
Bea laughed. “Laurent would’ve loved it.”
“Where is he?” Nico asked.
“He was in New York,” answered Rafael from the center of the court.
“Rude of him to schedule that on my first week off.”
“He volunteered to be our liaison there,” Rafael said, passing him the ball. “He’s been going monthly. Laurent does what he does.”
“I guess he’s excused then,” Nico said, sounding disappointed. He jogged backward as he dribbled. “So we playing or we chatting, El Jefe?”
They collided again, ball snapping between them, no more banter, all focus. Nico pivoted, slipped under Rafael’s arm only to get spun wide by a sharp rebound. Her pulse echoed the pace. She whooped and clapped like she was courtside at the playoffs.
The game was good. Her husband was better. Every movement drew across the muscles in his back, the taut lines of his torso glistening with sweat. Whenever his calves flexed she had the absurd urge to bite something.
Nico banked a three, breathless and triumphant. “That’s five!”
“What am I on again?” Rafael asked.
“I don’t know. Bea only taught me to count to five.”
“Hey, don’t besmirch my good name,” Bea called out, half distracted by the gunshow as Rafael carelessly wiped his face with the back of his hand.
After another stretch of brutal play, Nico finally bent double, hands on his knees, soaked with sweat.
Bea stood, protective instincts kicking in. “Don’t break him on his weekend off.”
“I’m just getting started,” Rafael said, still dribbling.
Nico’s hand came up, as if waving a white flag. “Respectfully retiring.”
“Go shower, cadet,” Bea said, having mercy. “We’ll give you the tour.”
