Page 42 of Well Played

“I’ve never had oysters, before,” I admit, picking up a shell and turning it to see which side will be easier to sip from.

“Don’t knock them before you try them.” He flicks out his tongue, “Like other things I could mention in private, they're delicious.”

“Are you trying to turn me on Mr. Parker?” Thankfully, we are in a darkened corner and other customers can’t see me blush. I know exactly how Bronx’s tongue feels between my legs, but if he keeps looking at me like that, we won’t make it through dessert. I’m done waiting. What with my job and his daughter, waiting has been the right thing to do, but how many nights do I have to go to sleep and dream about the softness of his lips, the firmness of his hands or … everything else.

“I'm doing more than try.” He leans closer and takes one hand, bringing my fingers to his lips, tracing my nails with his tongue. Okay, self-control might be over-rated, I burn for this man. “I'm going to get into your panties tonight, and I want you wet, willing, and wanting.”

Oh my melting ovaries, I think I just got pregnant by words alone. I tease back, “What if I’m not wearing any?”

I’m joking, although it’s nice to see Bronx splutter and blush.

“Did you just say …”

“Gotcha.” I flutter my eyes so he’ll forgive me. “I thought about it, but it's not me.”

Bronx pushes his chair close enough for our legs to brush and I slip out of one shoe and curl my toes up and down his calf, caressing his strong muscles that flex at my touch. He checks himself before speaking, breathing in, holding, before exhaling. I’m affecting him. Little ol’ me is affecting Bronx Parker.

“Willow, I need you to listen to me.” He gathers both my hands in his, demanding my attention. Well, he’s got it. “You don't have to be anything other than who you are. If you want to wear a dress, wear a dress. If you want to wear high heels or bare feet, fine. If you want to wear panties, wear them knowing that I may spend the rest of the night trying to get you out of them. You don't have to be anything other than the person you are.”

“I don’t know what to say.” And I don’t. It’s the closest Bronx has come to making a declaration of love.

“I'm with you because I want to be with you.” He squeezes my hand tight. “I’m sorry about the cloak and dagger stuff. Once I can prove my job is stable, I’ll have a better chance at formalizing shared custody. Once the school year is over and you’re no longer Charlotte’s teacher, I’ll be proud to shout to anyone who’ll listen that you’re my girl.”

“I’m scared that you won’t want me once the risk of being caught is over,” I admit.

“I’ve thought about that.” He nods and kisses my knuckles, one by one. “But, when I think of my closest friends, I think of you. When I think about who’ll be the first call once I can talk about my new job, I think of you.”

“Not your lawyer?”

“He’ll be a close second. The point is, when I think of all the qualities I want in Charlotte’s step-mother, I think of you. When I think about the qualities of someone I want to spend the rest ofmy life with and raise children with, I think of you. I’m not ready to buy a ring or anything, but I can see us together in a year … a decade or two’s time.”

We eat the next two courses one-handed and instead of conversation, we make gooey eyes at each other like love-sick fools.

“Your jacket, Miss.” At the end of dinner, the maître d hands me a jacket that I recognize but isn’t mine.

“Thank you,” Bronx says, taking the jacket with his last team’s insignia on the back. He wraps it around my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug. I’m stunned. This isn’t my jacket. I don’t even know where he got it from. He didn’t have it in the car that collected us and it wasn’t at the table.

“Where did this come from?”

“I dropped it off earlier today.”

“I have a jacket.”

“But notmyjacket. Notthisjacket.”

“Is that important?” I feel like I missed the first chapter of a book.

“You don't know?” He smiles as if my naivety is cute instead of embarrassing.

“Um, how would I know?”

“We only get one team jacket. I guess it's an unwritten law that we can only put it around the shoulders of one woman. My ex-wife wore my playing jacket. But this is the jacket I got when I coached. No other woman has worn it. If you choose to wear this jacket it's more than just keeping the cold out, it’s keeping my heart in.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I snuggle it around me, inhaling his scent. “I may never take it off.”

“Then don’t.” Our car pulls up and Bronx leads me forward. “Until I get you home, and then I reserve the right to get you out of the jacket and your panties.”

CANDLES, DANCING, AND DOT DOT DOT

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