Page 58 of Playing the Field
I look at the app, which has been giving me the runaround for the past ten minutes. “Ugh, it’s looking for a new driver again. I guess it’s peak hours.”
“Let’s go. I can handle a hill.” She’s up before I have a chance to argue and untangling Bogie’s leash from the leg of the table.
“Wait, there’s a new car coming in two minutes. Can you wait two minutes?”
“I can definitely wait two minutes.”
I tug Gracie against my side and nuzzle her neck. Can’t keep my damn hands off her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I’m vaguely aware of movement that I’ve learned to spot over the years. Someone notices me. There’s some surreptitious pointing and maybe an attempt to take a picture that looks like a selfie, but the phone is really pointed at me. In my sunglasses and hat, I’m barely recognizable, so I doubt there’s much social media currency in whatever she’s capturing.
All the same, I shift so Gracie is out of view, tucking my head down a little more so only the brim of my hat is visible. No point in mentioning it to Gracie because she’ll worry unnecessarily. This kind of thing happens all the time and is mostly a big nothingburger.
Our rideshare pulls up, and I shuttle Gracie and Bogie into the car, and a second later, I disappear behind tinted glass as the car chews asphalt, taking us up the hill.
Kyler responds to my text, saying he’s at the beach for the afternoon. Perfect.
Gracie leans her head on my shoulder, and I brush her hair away from her neck. Her skin looks milky and soft. I press a kiss to her temple and run a finger along her cheek. Gracie smiles up at me, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t have any regrets about the past or worries about the future.
I didn’t think anything rivaled the feeling of snapping a soccer ball away from a striker and saving a goal. But this right here is it.
A few lazy hours later,we’re still in Gracie’s room, which looks like a tornado blew through it. Clothes strewn everywhere, pillows chucked from the nicely made bed, reading light knocked from the bedside table.
Gracie reclines on the bed, hair splayed across an overstuffed pillow, lips red and swollen from being kissed for an hour straight. I’m on my side, propped on an elbow, enjoying the view. She looks good like this—scant makeup, messy hair, eyes glazed. Behind them, that fire of fierce intelligence still burns bright, but she’s spent, and it softens her focus. I like it.
“Are you coming to the game this weekend?” My ego wants to impress her, but I know I need to keep my focus on the game.
“I’m definitely watching, but I like TV better.” She cringes as though afraid of my reaction.
“Really? You are one of one, Tink. Most people love the rush of action and the crowd at a game.”
“I get that, but it’s hard to focus when people are screaming all around me. Especially in the team box when everyone wants to know my opinions, like I can do analytics on the spot.”
“You can. It’s your superpower.”
She smiles. “Shh. Don’t tell.”
“Noted. No live games for Gracie Albright.”
“We don’t have to be so extreme. How about fewer live games?”
“Deal.”
I pull her against me and run a hand down her arm until I hear the tiny sigh that gives me life.
“Mmm. I’ve gotta say, I was not happy about moving to LA, but you’re looking at a total convert.” Her smile is easy, and thepost-sex haze has her blinking up at me slowly like I might disappear if she makes any abrupt moves.
I laugh and point between the two of us. “Yeah? You’re crediting LA with what we’ve got going here?”
“Totally. All LA magic.”
“Good to know.” My hand takes a slow trip down the length of her body, starting at her shoulder, following the swell of her breast, nipping in where her waist contours, and settling on her hip. I can’t help the way my fingers dig into her flesh there, gripping her possessively. From the way her eyes seem to melt, I know she likes it.
“Mm hm, magic,” she whispers.
Leaning over to brush her lips with a kiss, I roll against her side and feel myself start to get hard again from barely touching her. This woman. She has a hold on me like I’ve never experienced, and I don’t even think she realizes it.
Maybe it’s better that way. Until I figure out what this thing between us is, and whether there’s any hope of a future, I don’t want her to know how quickly my heart is sliding into quicksand, pulled deep by how much I want her for more than stolen hours or nights.
