But mostly, I wanted to make sure Reese was okay and I couldn’t do that if I couldn’t fucking find her.
My phone buzzed in the back pocket of my jeans. The plastic case was in serious danger of cracking as I crushed it in my hand, punching the passcode in viciously.
Reese: I left. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye, but I couldn’t stay any longer.
She’s safe. Thank fuck, she’s safe.
But my relief was short lived as the messages continued to arrive in quick succession.
Reese: I shouldn’t have done that.
Reese: Maybe tomorrow night is a bad idea.
I stilled, a thousand denials wanting to rip from my throat.
My fingers shook as I typed a reply.
Me: Because of me? Or because of some asswipes on drumline?
There was a long pause and my heart faltered, beating in triplets instead of quarter notes.
Those three gray dots appeared, telling me she was replying. Then they stopped.
I walked out of the apartment, not speaking to a soul, uncaring as I shouldered past a cluster of guys near the front door.
My lungs breathed easier just getting out of that room, but my legs failed me, and I sunk onto the steps, laser focused on those gray dots that were blinking again.
Reese: You’re the captain. I’m the girl trying to fit in where I’m not wanted.
Reese: How can you not see how bad of an idea this is?
Not me. It isn’t because of me.
The tightness around my chest loosened. This was a fumble, an interception. But I wasn’t out of the game yet.
Me: You’re the best damn idea I’ve had all year. And if you show up tomorrow, I’ll prove it.
I hesitated. I couldn’t force her to come—I didn’t want to force her to do anything. I wanted her of her own volition, this whirlwind of a woman who’d been driving me crazy from the moment I laid eyes on her.
My fingers twitched on the phone, a melody unfurling in my marrow. The song I only heard when I thought of Reese.
Me: Are you really going to let Marco and some shitheads you don’t even care about stop you? Are you going to let them win?
I sat there for another hour, until my ass went numb from the edge of the step and the first drunk guests started to stumble home, tripping past me as they left.
And the longer I sat there, my phone quiet in my hand, the calmer I became.
She hadn’t answered with another excuse. Hadn’t listed a litany of flimsy reasons to beg off. Hadn’t invented a friend with a family emergency she had to rescue at the last minute.
No, if I knew my girl, she was fuming on the other end, because nobody held her back from doing what she wanted. Not cancer. Not a hundred and eighteen years of drumline tradition. Definitely not some insecure motherfucker who couldn’t stand not being the center of attention.
And—if I was right—Reese Holland wanted me almost as badly as I wanted her.
She’ll be here.
I returned the vacuum to its home in the corner of the front closet, having done one last pass in the never-ending battle against Oscar’s shedding.
She’ll be here.
The salad was prepped and in the fridge, classic Caesar with fucking homemade croutons that I’d made following the instructions on a YouTube video, because she was worth the extra effort.
She’ll be here.
Steaks from a local butcher shop, not just the refrigerated section of the Publix around the corner, were marinating, ready to be thrown on the grill.
She’ll be here.
The asparagus, bundled with thick slices of peppery bacon, was ready to go, wrapped in heavy duty foil that could withstand the flames.
She’ll be here.
The whole apartment smelled like the sweet potatoes that had been baking in the oven for the last hour.
She’ll be here.
I took the fastest shower known to man, making sure my pits and prick were clean and rushing through the rest. I didn’t shave. She liked the stubble.
She’ll be here.
I opened a beer, needing to do something with my hands, needing to do anything to distract myself from the fact that she was fifteen minutes late.
She’ll be here.
Maybe I should change? I glanced down at my shirt, a soft gray tee that had an outline of Alabama on the chest and said Homegrown in thick, blocky letters below it. It wasn’t fancy, but if she showed up tonight, it wasn’t because of what I would or wouldn’t be wearing.
It would be because she couldn’t deny the chemistry between us any longer.
She’ll be here.
Oscar brought me his favorite tennis ball, raising his eyebrows expectantly. I threw it twenty-seven times before the doorbell rang.
She was here.
Reese
The door opened. Laird’s scent reached me first, soap and bad ideas and fairy tales all mixed up in a pheromone cloud I was powerless to resist.
“I shouldn’t be here.” My voice sounded weak and a bit defensive as I looked at his neck, his chin, his nose—anywhere but his kryptonite green eyes.
“Wrong. This is exactly where you should be.”
His hand closed around my wrist and he pulled me out of the endless Alabama heat into the coolness of his townhouse, then crowded me against the wall. Before I could protest, before I could even take a breath, his mouth was on mine, desperate, hungry, and so damn hot. Rational thought fled my mind. My knees buckled and I clutched his shirt, letting his arm around my back support my weight.
“Right here. With me. In my arms.” The husky words hit me like bullets.
His tongue licked the seam of my lips, then plunged inside. A greedy noise spilled from my throat. I’d never get enough of the way he tasted, of the way my skin seemed to hum whenever he touched me. His other arm fell to my thigh, tugging my leg up to wrap around his waist as he arched my back. That dirty mouth of his wasn’t the only thing pressing against me.
I raised my arms to his wide shoulders, feeling his muscles bunch under my palms. My nails scratched along his scalp, and his answering groan had me shivering in wanton desire.
There was no spark, no slow build-up. This was an instant inferno of need.
“Laird.” I rubbed my cheek against his stubble, then tipped my head to the side as he trailed kisses down my neck. “We shouldn’t.”
It was my last attempt at logic, at sane reasoning, although it was half-assed at best considering my words came out more as a moan.
“Says who?” His eyes bored into mine, snaring me in their frustrated heat. “You? You want this. I can feel how much you want it. Your nipples are already hard and begging, your mouth is swollen and pouting, and there’s no doubt in my mind, if I reached between those sweet thighs of yours right now, that you’d be wet and ready.”
He rocked his hips, his hard length obvious behind his zipper. “That’s just the start of what you do to me, Reese.”
Laird traced his fingers along my face, rubbing at the crease between my eyebrows with his thumb. “Tell me you don’t want to be here.”
Before I could open my mouth, he stopped me with a grunt and a sharp shake of his head. “No. Not whether you think you should be here, tell me you don’t want to be here. That you don’t want me to cook you dinner, and tell you how damn beautiful you look, and kiss you until you’ve been kissed every single way there is to kiss.”
I bit my lip, unable to lie to him when he held my gaze like this, wringing the truth from me whether I wanted to give it to him or not.
“You didn’t even take the time to see what I was wearing,” I pointed out with a soft laugh.
“Doesn’t matter.” His eyes never wavered from mine. “You’re gorgeous in everything.”
He released my thigh, letting it drop until I was standing on my own two feet again, albeit a bit wobbly.
“Besides,” he pressed his forehead to mine, “Oscar’s missed you. And there’s nothing worse than a sad wiener.”
I finally registered the ecstatic dachshund weaving around our feet and head-butting our calves, a well-loved tennis ball wedged in his mouth. I crouched to rub his soft ears, and he flopped on his side in blatant surrender.
“Fuck, Oscar. You don’t have to be that whipped. You could make her work for it a little.” Laird watched his dog snuffle in happiness, tail thumping out a blur of eighth notes. “I’m gonna leave you two to your little reunion while I throw the steaks on the grill. How do you like yours cooked, Reese?”