Page 117 of Revival

The hoot bursting from Juniper has everyone’s attention. Once she sobers, she nudges my shoulder.

“Don’t tell my husband, but I have to admit Spencer is way hotter than Sebastian.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” I bite my lip as I watch Spencer walk down the concrete path. He chose his approach from the opposite side, meaning he doesn’t have to walk by my entire family to reach me. My breath seems to stutter at the sight of him. Those dark blue jeans hugging his hips just right. The long-sleeved shirt. The material pushed back just enough to expose his muscled forearms. Even with the dark shades covering his eyes, I feel his stare like a physical caress.

His arm is crooked at the elbow, and his mom hangs onto the joint. Her smile is broad and proud as her missing middle son accompanies her to her seat.

Spencer kisses his mom’s cheek before he climbs the bleachers with a slow assuredness that melts my panties. He’s sending a message. A strong one. The only person he cares about in this section is me.

His shadow crosses my face, and I tilt my head back, rubbing my palms over my upper arms to increase warmth.

I raise an eyebrow, and eye the blanket in his hand.

He does a slow sweep of my body. Tingles erupt at the top of my head and cascade down beneath his observation.

“You must be freezing.”

The blanket in his arms unfolds with a simple snap, and he wraps the soft material around my shoulders.

“You’re a lifesaver.” I clench my jaw to stop the obnoxious chatter. Without waiting for an invitation, he settles into the vacant space beside me.

Peeling the sunglasses from his head unveils his devastating blue eyes.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey, Spence.”

His eyebrow slowly rises. “Gonna make me ask for it?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” I lean in.

The kiss is slow but brief. His lips are warm and soft against my own. His tongue sweeps into my mouth for a moment, a satisfying taste before it’s gone. Pinching my chin in his index finger and thumb, Spencer tilts my head down to plant another kiss on my forehead.

“How’s that for a hard launch?” he asks, sweeping his gaze over my face.

A flick of my eyes reveals a few turned heads in our direction.

“Pretty damn good.”

Parents on the other bleachers begin shrieking as the opposing players take the field. Our boys are hitting first. I point out Lincoln waiting in the hole and Oliver behind him at fourth at bat.

“They must be good hitters,” he remarks, his arm winding around my waist.

“I’m his mom, so of course I think he’s the best there ever was.”

Spencer smiles at me and finds my hand in my lap.

As the game gets underway, I relax back into Spencer’s hold. His arm behind me and his hand wrapped around mine ground me. I’ve sat in these bleachers a hundred times by now, yet this time feels different. How can everything with him feel so new when I’d spent the past three years in a relationship? The answer is like a flashing sign in my head.

It’s because he does things without me having to ask.

I didn’t ask him to come.

I didn’t ask him to bring a blanket.

I didn’t ask him for a kiss, or to cuddle, or to hold my hand.

I didn’t have to ask him to put his phone away and pay attention to my son’s game.

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