Page 97 of Player Misconduct
“It’s okay,” she whispers back.
This time, her eyes don’t leave mine. And then I take a chance, because I have to when she looks at me like that. I lean down slowly, giving her every chance to stop me—but she doesn’t. Her breath catches, lashes flutter, and then her hands find the back of my neck.
The kiss starts tentative, testing, then deepens with a hunger neither of us bothers to disguise. She tastes like cinnamon and Seattle in September. The world shrinks to the sound of our breathing, the slip of her fingers in my hair, the quiet sigh that leaves her when I shift closer. Her knees part, and I move between them, bracing my palms against the blanket so I don’t crush her belly—just close enough for her to feel the weight of me, the slow press of need that matches the thud of my pulse.
She lets out a small sound of agreement, as if to say this is what she needed too, and it undoes me.
My hand skims up her side, catching on her sweater dress, the curve of her hip beneath soft fabric. It’s not about taking; it’s about remembering that beneath all the conflict keeping us apart, there’s still something unbreakable between us.
Then the wind decides to ruin it.
A sudden gust sweeps through the balcony, rattling the telescope and knocking over the empty glasses with a crash. We break apart, breathing hard, both startled into laughter.
“Guess the universe has opinions,” she says, cheeks flushed.
“Jealous universe,” I say, still catching my breath. I stand and then help her up next, righting the telescope and checking the lens. “I should get all of this stuff inside before it breaks.”
“Here, let me help you,” she says, quickly kneeling to grab the picnic items off the blanket. “Save the buns at all costs,” sheteases, reaching for the cardamom bun box first to tuck it back into the basket.
“God forbid the buns fly away.”
“It would be an utter tragedy.”
She keeps helping me pack, but I can see her belly is making it harder.
“Kendall, let me do that. Just relax. I’ll have everything packed up, and we can head downstairs.”
“It’s okay, I can help.”
Soon we’re packed up and heading back down to my apartment.
I open the door for her and let her in first. We drop everything on the kitchen counters, and then there’s a short pause between us–like the tension from that kiss is still pulling at both of us.
There’s something about having her in my apartment. A feeling deep down that’s begging me not to let her leave. To say something that will convince her to stay. This place finally feels like home but only because she’s standing in it.
I take a few steps closer, her eyes locking on mine. I brush a few strands that fell out of her bun away from her face. “Will you stay tonight? I’m not ready to let you go just yet.”
The truth is, I’m never ready to let her go. I wish I never had to again.
I see her glance instantly at the open door to my bedroom, her mind already jumping a few steps ahead. That’s how Kendall is—a planner through and through—and she already knows what staying the night could mean.
“You want me to stay over?”
“I just want to keep you to myself… just for a little longer. What we do or don’t do is up to you. But if not, I’ll take you home.”
“I drove…” she says, though I can see she’s still debating whether she wants to stay.
“I’ll still take you. We can get your car to you tomorrow.”
“I want to stay,” she says finally, stepping closer until we’re toe-to-toe. She licks her lips, and now I know we’re on the same page about how this night ends.
“Say that again,” I ask, bending closer. I need to hear it—her choice. Maybe it’s just for tonight, but I still need to hear it.
Her hand slides up my chest, her fingertips burning into me like a brand. Like I’m all hers—and I am.
“I want to stay… with you.”
That’s all I need. My arm catches her around the waist, pulling her against me, her baby bump padded between us. My lips crash down on hers, and she raises her chin to meet me, her mouth needing mine as much as I need hers.
