Page 41 of Score on You

“Love me.”

“What?” I twist toward him just as my finger slips and snaps the shot.

“That’s gonna be the best yet.” He snatches the exposure as it gets spit out.

“What?” I repeat as his earlier words whirl in a spiral until I’m lightheaded.

“Candids can’t be replicated,” he explains.

A crease forms between my brows. “You said that for shock value?”

“Nah, but your expression will be priceless.”

“You should have this one,” I insist when he tries to hand over the image.

“Are you sure? It’ll fit with your collection.”

“That just gives us an excuse to take more, right?” I jostle the Instax in my hold.

“I won’t argue with that.” He slides the developing photo into a crack on the dash.

“That doesn’t fit with your minimalist vibe.” A cringe tightens my features while I motion to the spotless interior.

“Sweetness,” he chides. “There’s nothing minimalist about me. I’ve just been waiting for you to fill in the gaps.”

And there go the belly swoops. “Um, wow. You might be perfect, boyfriend.”

“Far from it,” he chuckles. “But for you? I’m giving it all I’ve got.”

I rest a palm flat on the somersaults wreaking havoc in my stomach. “It’s working.”

“Good. Which reminds me, the pups are waiting for you. I don’t want you to be late.” Ridge reverses out of my driveway and begins the short trip to Main Street.

My shift at Pampered Pooch hasn’t crossed my mind. “Smooth transition.”

“What can I say? I’m not just hard edges and cheesy lines.” He knocks on the divider that separates our seats.

“No,” I breathe. “You’re much more.”

A comfortable silence settles between us as the tires bump along the pavement. It doesn’t escape my immediate notice that our hands are inches apart. As if listening to my inner dialogue, Ridge glances at where we’re almost touching. My heart begins to race while I consider eliminating the space. I can be brave.

But before I can make the move, his palm shifts to cover mine. The touch is tentative. A test to my untried limits he’s often referencing. The slight contact still shoots a rocket off in my chest and it takes saintly effort to sit still.

Ridge probably catches the struggle twitching across my expression. “Is this okay?”

My pulse is galloping to the point that I hear hoof beats. “Very much so.”

With permission granted, he clasps our hands together. A riot of giddy bumblebees take flight in my belly when he threads my fingers between his. Uncertainty begins to assault me. My skin is clammy. Oh, gosh. He’s going to think I’m a sweaty mess. And I’m probably too stiff.

After a long exhale, I sag into the leather. Ridge gives me a gentle squeeze that I feel straight to my toes. I rub my thumb along his in response. All too soon, he’s pulling over at the curb in front of my job. I sit for several moments while debating with myself. Releasing his grip isn’t on my preferred tasks to complete this century. It’s not as if I can stay glued to his side allday, though. The appropriate solution is to get my butt into the doggie daycare.

Ridge’s deep timbre puts a halt to the hasty retreat I was about to make. “Hey, sweetness?”

“Yeah, boyfriend?” I toss at him in return.

His mouth quirks and I could just about melt. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

I pretend to think it over, but my calendar is empty. “Not that I’m aware of.”

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