Those words could be song lyrics, an anthem that would be the soundtrack to my life. My goal to break out of my shell and gain confidence and begin dating again never occurred, but I’ve found so much more. “I might get my first tattoo with those words.”
His smile turns knowing. “Can I pick the spot?”
“Where would you put it?”
He hums as his eyes darken and he leans back in his chair. Confidence and lust roll off of him in waves that make me cross my legs. “I’ll need you in my bed to show you.”
“What about dinner with Rae and Lincoln?”
“We can reschedule.”
“How about we use my bed? Rae’s making your favorite, chicken marsala.”
Pax clamps a hand over his chest and sighs. “She wants us there.”
I nod.
“We should probably go, huh?” he asks.
“Probably.”
His grin turns devious. “Prolonged satisfaction?”
“You’re a master of it.”
His grin is sinister. “All I can picture is you naked.”
My gaze flits around the restaurant, ensuring no one’s listening to our conversation.
“I didn’t say it loud enough for anyone to hear. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is help implant the image of you naked in another guy’s head.” He leans a little closer. “That’s for me. All mine.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one here picturing me naked. Which, by the way, probably violates all sorts of health codes considering we're in a restaurant. Put my clothes back on that mental image you’re having.”
He chuckles. “After this morning, that’s going to be nearly impossible. I’ve got like two hundred fantasies that have been consuming my thoughts today.”
Desire teases at my stomach. “Was cake involved?”
He leans across the table, his lips so close to mine I can nearly feel the outline of them. “They do now.” He kisses me. “Text Rae and tell her we’ll be there. I’m going to say goodbye to Dominic and get us refills.” He gathers his computer and books and shoves them into his bag before sliding it over his shoulder and grabbing our empty cups.
I carefully place my books back in my bag and move to the counter to free our table now that it’s getting busy. My head is bowed as I text Rae when someone fills the seat beside me. It’s a guy who, under other circumstances, I’d probably think was attractive, with light brown hair, a strong chin, and a friendly smile. “Is this seat taken?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
“This restaurant’s my favorite new spot in town,” he says. “So many places don’t get the crispy crust, and this place has it down pat.”
“They’re really good,” I agree.
“I’m Oliver,” he says, offering his hand and a smile.
“Poppy,” I tell him, shaking his hand.
Pax appears, his gaze shifting from me to the guy beside me. I can’t read his expression, but can innately tell he’s neither angry nor amused.
I take a step back from the counter. “I hope you enjoy your pizza,” I tell the stranger.
He looks from me to Pax, who crosses the counter. “Yeah, you too.”
“I leave you alone for one minute,” Pax says, pushing the door open, a giant smile spread across his lips.
“I think he was just making small talk.”
“He was ready to ask for your number.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I can’t blame him. I’d flirt with you if I saw you.”
I laugh in response.
Pax hooks his arm around my shoulders, drawing me near, and kisses my temple. “How do you feel about me spending the night?”
“I feel like it should be listed under mandatory.”
The faint scents of the pizza restaurant follow us back to Paxton’s, where I gather my things from last night, and he packs a bag. I try to silence the small voice in my head that wonders if this is too much too soon. I know a honeymoon phase is normal and natural even. Hell, Rae and Lincoln are still in the thick of theirs, and it’s been nearly a year.
“This is really…” I lift the long stocking cap that sits on Paxton’s desk. “I’ve never seen you wear it.”
“My lucky Seahawks hat,” he says, shoving something into his duffle bag and then rolling his shoulders. He’s sore, but he says nothing. On Sundays, the team rests. After putting all their time and energy onto the field on Saturday games, they’re physically and mentally fatigued. I know firsthand from Lincoln staying at our apartment that he spends large parts of the day with ice packs and other hours napping.
“You have a lucky Seahawks hat?”
A grin flashes in his eyes. “I do.”
I chuckle, looking at the hat that likely reaches past his shoulders while on. It’s leprechaun green and white striped and has a football embroidered on the front. “You wear it whenever they’re playing?”
“Only when I go to their home games.”
“Do you go very often?” I ask, realizing there are still many things about Pax that I don’t know—things I haven’t been there for.
“Candace’s uncle is one of the assistant coaches, so he used to give us tickets.” His words are unfiltered, like he’s telling me about a class or a friend from the past. Instead of his long-term girlfriend, whose picture is still face down in the frame on his desk.
Jealousy claws at me, wanting to be heard and voiced, but I shove it into that back corner of my mind that I’ve been working avidly to avoid and turn when Pax says he’s ready.
When we get to my
