Page 104 of Sliding into Love
"Always." He presses a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "No more secrets, remember? That means you get all of me, and I get all of you."
"All of me," I echo. "Even the complicated parts."
"Especially the complicated parts." He tilts his head to look at me, his eyes serious despite the lazy satisfaction in his expression. "Those are the parts that make you who you are, Royce. I wouldn't want you without them."
My chest feels too tight again, but in the best possible way. "I don't know how we got here.”
“Fate. Timing. The universe finally cutting us both a break. Take your pick.” He settles back against my chest. "Now let me sleep. You wore me out, Your Majesty."
I smile, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Sleep, Little Menace. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He's asleep within minutes, his body relaxed and trusting against mine. I lie there, listening to him breathe, feeling the steady beat of his heart, and let myself feel the full weight of what we just committed to.
No more secrets. No more distance. Just us, choosing each other, complications and all.
It's terrifying. It's exhilarating. It's everything I could ask for in a partner.
And for the first time in a very long time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this is going to work.
Kenneth Meyer may not be who I thought he was when we first reunited, but I can’t complain about it. He’s better than I could have ever imagined.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
KENNETH
I've been reorganizingthe kitchen pantry for the third time in two weeks, and I know it's become a problem when Royce emerges from their home office with that look on their face that says they've reached their limit of watching me rearrange alphabetically organized spice racks.
"Kenneth," they say, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee that's probably cold by now. "You need a hobby."
"I have hobbies," I say, which is technically true. I've taken up woodworking, started a blog about baseball statistics that nobody reads, and I've been meal prepping like it's an Olympic sport. None of these things have stuck.
"You need a real hobby," Royce clarifies, taking a sip of the definitely-cold coffee and trying not to grimace. “Things that actually engages your brain. You've been driving me insane for the last month. You pace. You reorganize things that don't need reorganizing. Yesterday, I caught you color-coding my book collection when I came home. You rarely even go to your place anymore. Why is that?”
"Organization is calming," I defend, ignoring the question entirely.
"Kenny baby, you made a file in my office for the instruction manual for the toaster. The toaster I don't even use."
They have a point. There's a restlessness I can’t seem to shake. A need to do more, yet in reality I don’t know whatmoretruly entails.
"So what do you suggest?" I ask, already suspicious of where this is going.
Royce sets down their coffee cup with a deliberate clink. "Come back to work with me."
I blink. "I'm sorry?"
"The stadium needs you. We’ve all noticed a gap since you left. It’s not anything we can’t handle administratively. This is about the energy of the team. You could set your own hours. And before you start with the objections—" they hold up a hand "—hear me out. You're the best at what you do. The team will benefit from having you back. And you'd stop acting like a crazed domestic servant."
The irony isn't lost on me. I left my previous role because Royce's family bought the team, and Royce took over my old job. I’d been fine with the change. Truly, it was time to move on. Plus, I couldn’t turn down the Bellports. Not when I’d hoped it would bring me back into Royce’s orbit.
Lo and behold, my hope became a reality. I don’t regret a single bit of it.
And now they're offering me a way back in.
"That's a terrible idea," I say immediately.
