Page 28 of Bad Run

It’s strange to say, but as I stare up into his hypnotic blue gaze, I know with every part of me I can trust Lance Taylor with my life. The feeling is inexplicable and probably has to do with our conversation on the roof. Some deep-rooted human instinct in me says he doesn’t share his personal life so easily, and yet he did with me.

“I trust you, Lance.”

The smile that takes over his face sends shivers racing down my spine as an icy gust of wind whips around us, blowing my hair across my face. With his free hand, he reaches out, pinching the hair with his fingers, then pushes the curly tendril behind my ear, grazing the sensitive skin with his fingertips. This time, there’s no hiding the way his touch is wreaking havoc on my body. Goosebumps pebble my skin, making me shudder harder.

“You’re cold. Here.” Lance misconstrues my chills, but I won’t complain. He drops my hand to shrug off his jacket and then places it over my shoulders. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” I nod. I’m happy I left my jacket at Jenna’s apartment.

I push my arms through the holes in his jacket, soaking up his lingering body heat and the rich, masculine scent of his cologne that envelops me like the safety of a cocoon.

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad I grabbed it before I left.” Lance grabs my hand and leads me down the dark alley toward the lit, busy street. He glances at my feet and frowns. “Do you mind walking? The place I want to take you is only a few blocks away.”

“Not a problem. These guys are quite comfy.” I kick out my foot and twist it sideways to show him the thick heel. “Besides, I went to UNY, so I’m no stranger to walking.”

Lance visibly swallows, his throat bobbing, as he brings his eyes from foot to my face. “Good to know.”

As we walk, I rapid-fire questions at him. Like what his favorite movie is, or his favorite city to visit when he’s playing. I eat up every bit of information he’s willing to share with me.

One avenue and six blocks later, Lance pushes open the door to one of my favorite twenty-four-hour shops in the city.

My cheeks hurt from grinning as I breathe in the sugary-sweet air and zero in on the wall-to-wall glass case of confectionery deliciousness.

“I take it you’ve been here before?” Lance asks.

I look up to find him staring at me. His crystal blue eyes dance with mirth, and the sexy smirk he sends my way takes my breath away. He’s so devastatingly handsome I can barely find the words to answer him.

“Of course. I’m a donut aficionado, and this is the only place in the city you can get strawberry-pink glazed donuts with rainbow sprinkles.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

As the young college student behind the counter recognizes Lance, his eyes widen in shock. He stutters and fumbles the register as he takes Lance’s order.

As discreetly as I can, I slip away and slide into the booth with the most privacy, so as not to be seen in case someone recognizes Lance again.

Guilt crashes over me like a weighted blanket, making it hard for me to breathe. I hate myself for not being completely honest with Lance about who my family is, but this might be the only opportunity I have to make him see me as just Gwen. A woman with aspirations and dreams.

Not Gwen Montgomery, daughter to Ted Montgomery Jr.

Lance places a greasy paper bag on the table in front of me. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. You’re kind of a big deal,” I tease, waving him off.

“Eh, I just play baseball,” he says with a shrug and, instead of sitting across from me, slides in beside me and presses his thigh against mine.

My body locks tight while my heart makes a giddy little flip in my chest at the contact. The poor thing has been working overtime since Lance kissed me on the roof.

I’ve never been on a date with a man confident enough to sit next to me in a restaurant booth. Not even my ex-boyfriend shared a bench seat with me, which, looking back on, should have been a red flag.

Not Lance. Confidence oozes from every pore of his marble-sculpted body.

“You don’t just play baseball. You’re one of the best players in the league. Do I need to remind you of your stats?”

Lance shakes his head with a chuckle. “Please don’t.”

“Fine. I won’t mention how you had 111 R.B.I.’s or 178 hits.” I reach for the grease-spotted brown paper bag and open in. A strawberry blast hits me in the face, making my mouth water and my stomach rumble.

“Oh. My. Gawd,” I moan in my best New York accent and reach for a donut. I can practically feel myself salivating. The dough is still warm, and the frosting is gooey as I pinch one between my fingers and take a bite. My eyes close as the sweet explosion of flavors hits my tongue. “So good.”