back of my head and sifts his fingers through my hair. It feels so good and so comforting that the tears I was trying to hold back begin to slip out as my head lowers into that perfect space on his shoulder. I cinch my arms around his waist and hold on as I allow myself to savour this moment. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man hold me. A very long time. And the fact that it’s Santino Rossi of all people is a surprise for so many reasons.
Santino wasn’t the hugging and comforting type of bloke. When he touched me in the past, it was for both of our pleasures. This feels strangely selfless, which isn’t a side to him I’m used to seeing.
Finally, I collect myself and murmur into his chest, “You know this is breaking several of my rules.”
Santino squeezes me tighter and growls in my ear. “Friends can hug.”
My lips pull back into a reluctant smile as I mumble into his collarbone, “This feels like more than a hug.”
“Friends give long, lingering hugs all the time.” His chest shakes with silent laughter, and finally, he releases me, stepping back and staring down at me with a kind look of concern. He swipes his thumb along my tear-stained cheek. “You good?”
“Aye, sure,” I brush him off, taking a step back and hitting him with a wobbly smile. “Nothing a stiff drink couldn’t fix or a decade’s worth of therapy.”
He smiles proudly at me and then waggles his brows. “Want to kick a ball around?”
This question shocks me. “You know how to play football?”
“I was quite good at the local youth club, I’ll have you know.” He bends over and dumps out the bag of balls.
“You were?” I can’t hide the disbelief on my face even if I tried.
He shoots me a roguish smile as he picks up a ball and tosses it between his two hands. “Well, my mum thought so.”
I belly laugh at that comment. “God, I can only imagine.”
“What about you?” He backs away from me and drops the ball onto his foot to do several kick ups. “You have a brother who played professionally, surely you learned something along the way.”
“Oh, I know plenty, don’t you worry.” Suddenly, I dart towards him and give him a hard push before stealing the ball.
“Oh fuck,” Santino huffs and turns to chase after me as I dribble my way down the pitch towards the net. “I wasn’t ready!”
“Rookie mistake, Sonny. You should always be ready!” I laugh and then squeal when he swoops in and steals the ball back from me. “Shit!”
“Oh yes,” Santino replies back, laughing more than I’ve ever seen him laugh in all the time I’ve known him. “My coach never thought I had what it took but my mum always believed in me.”
My belly hurts from laughing and running as I grab at his jumper to try to steal the ball back from him.
“Oiy! Watch the hands, Logan!” he bellows.
“You have to play a little dirty sometimes, Rossi! Don’t be such a delicate flower.”
“I’m not delicate! I just follow the—”
Suddenly, our legs get tangled and before I know it, he’s falling backwards and taking me down with him. I land with an oof on top of him and his hands somehow end up on my waist as mine press into his firm, very sculpted chest.
We’re both smiling and laughing and breathing hard. Really hard. So hard that the motion is causing our bodies to move on top of each other in a way that feels completely…divine.
Santino’s laughter dies as his gaze lowers to my lips. I stare back at his in response, and when I feel him lift his head off the grass and come closer to my mouth, I quickly roll onto my back and scramble back up on my feet.
“That was a cheap shot,” I bark, feeling the flush of heat in my cheeks. And between my legs.
Santino props himself onto his elbows, his head shaking back and forth. “You were the one who fouled me.”
“I didn’t foul you! You were blocking the whole time! You would have got a yellow card for sure.”
He growls, and then suddenly, he’s back on his feet and chasing after the ball. I sprint after him, but maintain more personal space this time. No more rules can be broken tonight. Not on my watch.
I stand outside Harrods’ corporate office late Friday afternoon fiddling with my tie as I wait for Tilly