Page 90 of Sliding into Love
"So do you." He catches my wrist, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Think anyone will notice?"
I straighten his collar, then my own shirt. "Definitely. But I'm finding it hard to care."
He grins, that boyish smile that makes my heart flip. "Good. Because I plan on doing that again the moment we're alone. And again after that. And probably several more times before the night is over."
"Is that a promise, Little Menace?"
"Your Majesty," he says, his voice dropping low, "that's a guarantee."
We head back inside together, not bothering to stagger our entrance. If people notice, which, based on Bell's knowing smirk, Bishop's outright laugh, and Finn's amused head shake, they definitely do, no one says anything directly.
I settle back into my seat, Kenneth beside me, his hand immediately finding mine again under the table. The party continues around us, warm and loud and full of life.
Bellamy leans over, voice low. "You two are not as subtle as you think you are."
"Don't care," I tell him.
"Good. You shouldn't." He squeezes my shoulder.
"Thanks, Bell."
This is what we wanted to build. Not just a successful team, but a family. People who care about each other, support each other, celebrate together.
And Kenneth, sitting beside me with dessert on his plate and happiness in his eyes, is at the center of it all.
My little menace. My partner. My future.
Later, when we're finally alone, I'll show him exactly what that means. But for now, I'm content to sit here, surrounded by good people and great food, with Kenneth's hand in mine and the promise of more to come.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KENNETH
There'ssomething perfect about this moment.
Royce is in my kitchen, barefoot and wearing one of my old college t-shirts that hangs loose on their frame, their hair slightly mussed from where I ran my fingers through it earlier. They're humming quietly to themselves as they chop vegetables for the stir-fry we're making together. Or rather, that they're making while I try to help without getting in the way.
"You're staring again," they say without looking up from the cutting board.
"Can you blame me?" I lean against the counter, watching them work. "You look good in my kitchen. In my clothes. In my space."
They glance up, a soft smile playing at their lips. "Your space, huh? I've been here almost every night this week."
"Exactly my point. It's starting to feel like our space."
The word hangs in the air between us.
Ours.
It's a small word, but it carries weight. Implications. A future that extends beyond the next few weeks or months.
Royce sets down the knife and crosses to me, sliding their arms around my waist. "I like the sound of that. Our space."
I kiss the top of their head, breathing in the scent of their shampoo mixed with my laundry detergent. It's intoxicating, this blending of our lives. "Me too."
"Okay, enough being sweet or I’ll have to change your nickname, Little Menace. We need to actually cook this food or we're going to be eating at midnight."
Their words are one thing, but their body language is another. They don’t even attempt to step away.
