Page 108 of Sliding into Love
I consider this. They're right, as usual. "Personal dinner, then. But I'm paying."
"No, you're not," Royce says, leaving my office before I can argue further.
The thing about being in a relationship with someone who's inherently bossy is that they're going to maintain that trait nomatter what the context. I'm learning that quickly. Over dinner, Royce tells me about their day. I reciprocate with my own observations about what I think needs to be tweaked in my new role.
It's genuinely nice to talk about work with someone who understands it on this level. Someone who cares about the stadium the way I do.
"This isn't going to be a disaster," Royce says as we're leaving the restaurant. "I know you were worried, but it's not."
"It's been one day," I point out.
"And you're already looking less stressed than you've been in weeks. That's worth a lot.”
I can't entirely argue with that. "Remind me of this conversation when I'm having a complete meltdown in three weeks."
"Deal," Royce says, taking my hand. "But you won't. Because we're going to do this right, and it's going to be good."
Walking to the car with Royce's hand in mine, I think about the weird symmetry of it all. I left the stadium because they took my job. Now I'm coming back to work with them. It should feel like a step backward, like I'm retreading old ground.
But it doesn't.
It feels like maybe we've finally figured out how to exist in both spaces, personal and professional, without one destroying the other.
Or maybe I'm just optimistic because it's the first day and everything still feels new.
Only time will tell. But as Royce drives us home, humming along to the radio, I find myself genuinely looking forward to tomorrow. To seeing what we can build now that we're not fighting each other.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ROYCE
Six months later
“I need to tell yousomething before we go to dinner. It’s heavy and will probably kill your good mood. I just don’t want the guys we’re meeting with to say anything without me having spoken to you.”
At my rushed-out words, Kenny turns away from the mirror where he was fixing his hair. “Your Majesty, this sounds scary.”
“So long as you remember this is all in the past, it won’t be.”
I move closer to him, my eyes locked with his. When I’m close enough to touch, I take his hand in mine, then run it over my wrist.
It takes him a minute to understand what he’s touching. But I see the second he gets it.
He yanks my arm up to inspect my skin. “Royce,” they choke out.
“Shhhh, Kenny baby. I told you it was in the past. I’m fine now. I survived. Mama got me into therapy and the people at Bellport General saved my life.”
“The gala!” He cries. “You hinted at this back then. Your family did too. Do they all know?”
I nod. “They do now. Not everyone knew when it happened. I was ashamed of being weak. Or at least, what I perceived as weak at the time.”
His throat moves as he swallows. It’s more a gulp, really.
Then his lips press against the scars marring my skin. It’s the most intimate thing we’ve ever shared, which is honestly saying a lot given how open we are sexually.
But this… this is more.
“Tell me what happened. Why did it happen? Can you share that with me?”
