Page 42 of Lace 'em Up

My heart flutters at the earnest words. “I know.” I push past the butterflies in my belly. “But…” I sigh, hold his eyes. “I’d really like to feel like I can do something helpful for a change.”

His big chest rises and falls on a breath. “Something more helpful than rescuing countless animals?”

Be brave and kind.

“Will you let me help you with this?” I ask. Be kind. “Just for a little while to take the pressure off? I know I’m not—” My eyes skate to the side. Be brave. “—I know I’m not the type of girl you normally date and?—”

His expression changes from bemused to furious in an instant.

“You are fucking beautiful,” he says fiercely. “So fucking beautiful that any man would be lucky enough to date you, let alone me.”

Let alone him?

This gorgeous professional athlete with the kind heart and love for his family and willingness to adopt a puppy and a planner that includes a list to pick up more treats for the pooch had told me?—

Let alone me?

I open my mouth to demand an explanation for that insanity?—

“Oh my God,” Stella says. “You two are so sweet.”

We jump and turn toward her, King’s arm coming around my shoulders, steadying me when I misstep, drawing me back against his big, strong body.

Now’s my chance.

Be brave and kind.

Inhaling, I summon that courage and reach up, touching his cheek. “I’ll just go up and make sure the guest room is ready for your mom, okay honey?” His fingers tighten. “And give you two a chance to catch up.”

His bright blue eyes hold mine for a long moment before he sighs quietly and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you, princess,” he murmurs.

Then he presses a kiss to my forehead and moves over to his mom.

“You have to try these cookies,” I hear as I slip from the room and hurry up the stairs to the guest room, heart pounding the entire way.

Be brave.

Be kind.

And…

Please don’t let this bite me in the ass.

Thirteen

King

“A black eye,” my mom comments archly later that evening as we sit around the kitchen island, devouring the plates full of steaming pasta and chicken in front of us courtesy of Rory, who’d changed the sheets in the guest room, moved her things into my bedroom, and then came down and started dinner.

Like a girlfriend would.

Christ.

Now, I’m staring at my plate, still spinning from the turn of events.

Rory seems unaffected, though, playing the part of my girlfriend with surprising ease.

I guess not surprising.

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