A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,92

answer him. “No, you’re wrong. I have every idea because I feel the same.”

He presses his lips to mine, a soft, poignant kiss that sends sparks through me. I try to make light of it. “Trying to get me aroused at Heathrow?”

He growls in my ear. “This is so much more than arousal, and you know it.”

There’s no point fighting it. No point denying it. “I know, Fitz. I know.”

He inches back so he can meet my gaze. “You know what this is.” It’s a statement, not a question. His lips curve up in a helpless grin, his expression sad. “I fell in love with you.”

My eyes float closed for a second, as I absorb the intensity of his words, the weight of them, the strength of them. I let them weave their way through me, filling every corner, making me feel alive in a way I have never felt before.

Nothing has come close.

No one.

Ever.

And now I feel it everywhere, and he’s leaving.

I open my eyes, part my lips, and grab a fistful of his shirt in frustration. “I can’t believe you did this.”

His lips crook up in a curious grin. “Did what? Fell in love with you?”

I tighten my grip on his shirt. “Walked into my bar, walked into my life, walked into my fucking heart. I can’t believe you did this to me. And now you’re leaving.”

Fitz smiles at me again. “Why does it bother you so much, Dean?”

He knows what he’s doing. He’s goading me.

Fitz has always been the one to go first. Fitz has always been the one to open his big heart to me. Damn him for doing that. Damn him for making it so hard to say goodbye.

Letting go of his shirt, I grab the back of his head, my jaw tight, my body tense from the horrible reality of him leaving. “Because,” I answer. “Because you know what happened. You know because you feel it too.”

There’s the intensity in his gaze that must drive him on the ice. He brings that to this moment as he demands, “Tell me.”

I’m stoic for a moment. Maybe if I keep this truth inside, if I keep my feelings to myself until he gets on the plane, I won’t stumble and screw up my whole damn life.

I now get why I’ve avoided love.

I understand why I chose men like Dylan, guys I knew on some level I’d never be serious with. If I never got serious, I’d never face this.

And now, I am.

Now I’m taking an absolute walloping because I fell in love against all my better judgment.

Against my brain.

Against my rules.

Against my pros and cons.

Once I say it, I don’t know how I’ll be able to stop myself from getting on that plane with him, stowing away in his luggage, and doing whatever it takes.

That’s the problem. I want him so much. Too damn much. I’ve never been able to resist him, even though I should have, even though I know what giving in can lead to.

And now, I don’t think I can resist telling him the truth.

More than that, I don’t want to. In spite of my fears, I want him to know what he’s done to me.

I slide my hand along the back of his neck, tugging him close. “I fell in love with you too,” I whisper.

The second the words leave my mouth, he crushes my lips in the most wonderful and terrible kiss of my life. Wonderful because it’s with the man I love, and terrible because he’s leaving.

“I have to go,” he says, when he breaks off.

“I know.”

“I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.”

I shake my head. “Don’t think of me. Just do your job.”

“Can’t help it.” He taps his temple. “You’re here.” Then his chest. “And here.”

I give him my most wry grin. “The feeling is mutual.”

He holds his hands out wide. “I fucking love you. That is all.” He heads through security, looking back at me nearly every second.

I don’t move. I stand, hands in my jeans pockets, eyes on that man as he sets his carry-on on the conveyor belt, as he walks through the scanner, then as he grabs his bag on the other side.

Then, one last raise of his hand. I do the same.

I watch him walk around the corner and out of sight, where he’ll board a plane for America, where he’ll return to his busy life, to three games a week, to constant travel, to life on the road, to teammates who need