bargained with Max to take her shift so she could be here.
His breath hitched, held, smoothed back out. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Changing your schedule.”
“How do you know I changed my schedule?” A hint of wariness crept in to prick at her contentment. She didn’t remember telling him that before now.
“Because you work almost every night, at least a few hours if not the whole evening.”
She frowned then sighed. He was right. Unless she asked for a night off, she was at the store. Money was too tight to pass up the hours. And yet she was here right now, despite all the reasons why she shouldn’t be.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “We can go out for dinner.”
Be seen with him in public. Was that what he was implying? Or was he just being nice and offering to take her out like any gentleman would do?
Her brain hurt from all the double—and triple-guessing she’d been doing. Shoulds and shouldn’ts, right and wrong, wants and needs. In the end, she really only had to ask herself one thing: Did she want to lose him?
The answer always came back “no.”
She turned in his arms, the soft glow of the overhead lights warding off the approaching darkness. A new bruise bloomed black and purple on his cheek. An elbow to the face last night. She’d watched the highlights of the game while she’d eaten lunch today. She’d launched out of her chair, phone clenched in her hand when she’d seen it happen.
She skimmed her fingers over it now, barely stroking the skin. Clean-shaven. The smoothness was unexpected, as was the lack of visual scruff. He appeared younger, less of the gruff, bad boy image. But he really wasn’t that, was he?
Her fingers hovered over the new injury. “You’ve had worse, right?”
He frowned. “Dinner? We can eat in too. There’s plenty of food in the fridge or freezer.” She pressed on the bruise. He flinched away. “Ow.” His frown deepened.
“I was talking about that.”
“Oh.” His expression flattened out. “Then yes. That’s nothing.”
“He should’ve gotten a penalty for it.”
His grin grew in slow increments. “You watched?”
She clamped her lips tight to hold in her smile, which failed miserably. “I could only do the highlights during lunch. I was—”
“Working last night,” he finished for her before dropping a kiss on her lips, chasing away her scowl. “See? I was paying attention.”
“Humph.” She faked another scowl. “I should probably be wary of that.”
He shook his head slowly. “Not where you’re concerned.”
“Why not?”
“Because I like you.”
Damn. There went her stomach flipping and churning again. She’d downed an entire roll of antacids in the last two days before giving up on them helping. “I don’t understand why.”
“Which is why.”
The circular answer only confused her more. She wasn’t like his other girlfriends, something she’d finally succumbed to and ran a Google search to confirm. Aiden had been right about her not fitting Henrik’s usual type.
Rain smacked at the window with a sudden gust of peppering taps. The air seemed charged with energy. Whether from the outdoors or the storm brewing within her, she didn’t know. Could she really do this? Them?
She’d been stroking the soft bristle of his sideburn by his ear, the hair teasing her fingertips in a calming motion. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.”
“Then tell me.”
Her swallow hurt, rough and jerking. “Is this the point where we share our darkest secrets?” she asked, half hoping he’d brush the question off as a joke.
He stared over her shoulder and it was a long moment before he looked back, solemn. “You want to do that? With me?”
The disbelief that meshed with the hard doubt in his voice jabbed at her overused guilt. How could she not? “Yes.”
His smile grew then wavered. “Can we sit down for that?”
Oh, shit. Her brief chuckle launched another stomach roll that blended with the thunder that rumbled over the house. “Do we need a drink for this too?” Her attempt at levity fell flat, but she held her smile anyway.
He settled his hands on her hips, kissed her soft and sweet. “I have just about any alcohol you’d like.”
“I thought athletes didn’t drink.”
“I don’t. Not very much.” He lifted a shoulder. “But a well-stocked bar keeps guests happy.”
Yet another thing that differentiated them. “My family is more the ‘we have beer and whisky. Everything else is at the store’ type.”
“I think I’d like your family.”
There it was, a simple statement that had her heart thumping with a rush of longing dampened by that ever-present