Page 76 of Bourbon Bliss
“And second is…” I glanced down at my chest. “Above the waist.”
“Right. Then, when you decide you’re ready for another pitch, we try third. That’s below the waist, for one or both of us. I vote both, but I’ll follow your lead.”
“And then?”
“Home base.” He reached out and ran his thumb down my cheek. “Unlike a baseball game, there’s no rush to make it home. We can stay at each base as long as you want. Hell, we can go backwards if we have to.”
This made sense to me. It was orderly, with a progressive sequence of events, each building on the previous step. If I could become proficient at each base, I could move on to the next, ready to take on a new challenge. By the time we went all the way home—if he was patient enough to stick with me—maybe I’d be ready. Maybe I’d be able to connect with him.
“I think this has the potential to be successful.”
He grinned. “Of course it does. You can’t be the only genius around here.”
But why would he do this? George Thompson was an attractive man. A former professional football player. Financially secure. Sexy. Fun to be around. He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he go to all this trouble for me?
“What are you thinking now?” he asked. “You looked excited for a second, but now you seem upset again. Or is that just the hangover?”
“The hangover is decidedly unpleasant, but no, that’s not it.” I took a deep breath. “There’s a piece of this I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
“Why would you do this? Why go to so much trouble?”
He held my gaze, his brown eyes looking deep into mine. “Because I’m in love with you.”
Emotion surged through me, crashing like an ocean wave. “Love?”
“Yes, June Bug. I am crazy, stupid in love with you. And I’ll do just about anything if it gets you there with me.”
“Run the bases,” I said.
“Run them, walk them—hell, we can crawl. As long as you’re not running off in the other direction, trying to get away from me.”
I looked at him in awe. This man loved me. We’d slept together. And he loved me. This piece of information was going to take some time to process. But for now, I let the happiness of it bubble to the surface as another realization dawned on me.
“George. My feelings of fondness for you have grown to a state of committed affection, punctuated by tenderness and infatuation.”
He grinned and touched my cheek. “You mean you’re in love with me, too?”
“Yes, I’m in love with you, too.”
25
George
First base would have felt good, right then and there. Of course, with June dressed in nothing but one of my t-shirts and a pair of boxers, resisting the desire to steal second—or third—would have taken some superhuman willpower.
But rehabbing June’s hangover was more important than my desire to get my hands—and my mouth—on her. She wouldn’t let me anywhere near her until she brushed her teeth, and even then, she wasn’t feeling well enough for me to kiss her properly.
So instead of asking her to throw my first pitch, I took her home for clean clothes, then bought her breakfast at Moonshine. We medicated with eggs, waffles, and coffee. By the time we were done, I think we both felt better.
I know I did.
June was a woman who challenged me at every turn. Her uniqueness put some people off, but it drew me right in. I loved her intelligence and her no-nonsense attitude. And there was a softness to her, just beneath the surface. She saw me for more than being GT Thompson, and I saw more than the June Tucker her friends and neighbors assumed her to be.
I knew she came by her fear of intimacy honestly. But she wasn’t nearly as bad at human interaction as she thought. Like I’d told her father, she’d been doing just fine with me. I understood her, as much as a man can understand a woman.
I loved her. I was in this for the long game. I just needed to convince her she belonged out on the field with me.
