Page 20 of Forecheck
Brent leaned in until his lips brushed my ear. “This doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“Definitely not.”
I felt his grin against the side of my neck a moment before he pressed a kiss there, then gripped my hips tighter and fit our bodies more closely together.
Several songs later, when Brent attempted to spin me out but I stumbled a step, he steadied me, face etched with concern.
“Are you okay?”
“My left foot is asleep!” I yelled, laughing in surprise. I’d been so consumed by Brent that I’d willfully ignored the pain in my feet from these infernal shoes.
“Let’s go sit,” he said, and before I could take a step in the direction of the couch he’d indicated, he swept me off my feet and carried me through the crowd.
“I guess you’re more like Clark Kent than I thought.”
Brent only smirked. “You’re in pain,” he said. “The least I can do is carry you.”
I wasn’t going to argue. I loved being wrapped up in him, his strong arms cradling my body and moving easily like I weighed next to nothing.
Instead of putting me down first and sitting next to me, Brent dropped himself onto the couch and settled me across his lap. For untold moments, we simply stared at each other until my breathlessness could no longer be attributed to dancing.
Brent’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though considering something, and he licked his bottom lip in silent question. I knew what he was asking, and I nodded once.
A flash of something that looked like triumph shot across Brent’s eyes, and my blood heated in response as he tilted his head and leaned in.
“Jean!” someone yelled behind me, startling me, and I sprang away so fast I nearly fell off Brent’s lap. Only his quick reflexes kept me upright.
“Reid,” he gritted out when his teammate reached us. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“You could, but you wouldn’t have a ride home. I’m heading out.” Reid’s expression was sheepish, as though he understood what he’d just interrupted. The way Brent’s body tensed told me he’d happily punch Cole for the intrusion. I settled my hand on his arm and squeezed.
“Berkley Daniels,” I said, extending my hand to Brent’s teammate.
“Cole Reid,” he said, accepting my hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’ve seen you play a lot,” I offered dumbly. Thankfully, Cole and Brent both laughed, then Brent gave me an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry, but we’ve got practice early, and Cole is my ride home.”
Crestfallen, I dropped my chin and nodded. “Okay.” Then I asked, “Do we have to leave, too?”
Brent shook his head. “Nah. Mitch has people that’ll make sure things don’t get out of hand when he’s not around. Stay. Enjoy yourselves. We’ll talk soon, right?”
“Of course,” I promised. “Maybe we could finally get that drink?”
“How about dinner?”
I couldn’t help but grin. He may be dipping out before I was ready to let him go—though I didn’t think I ever would be—but he wanted to see me again. Hope and excitement bloomed in my chest.
“I would love that,” I said. “Give me your phone.”
Withdrawing it from his back pocket, he unlocked it and passed it over. I tapped around, adding my name and number to his contacts, even going so far as to snap an overexposed selfie to use as my contact photo. When I gave it back, he grinned. I’d saved myself as “Berkley” with a little heart-eyed emoji next to it.
“Text me,” I told him.
“I’llcallyou,” he amended.
“Old school. I like it.”
