Page 52 of Fielder's Choice

I haven’t been to anything like this in years, so I wanted to put in extra effort. My black turtleneck is skin-tight. The high-waisted houndstooth skirt hugs my hips and lands at my mid-thigh. The thigh-high heeled black boots are layered on top of a pair of black tights.

Tonight is a special occasion, so I want to look the part.

…I might also want to impress Lane.

I haven’t seen him or Sage since her lesson on Tuesday, but we’ve been texting non-stop. I’m so excited to see him tonight.

Knox and Harlow’s penthouse is in Battery Park City, and you can see all of lower Manhattan through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view is absolutely breathtaking.

Rory and Cole are the only ones here right now—they came early to set everything up since Harlow is his sister—but Lane texted me a little bit ago, so I know he and Sage are on their way.

I’m in the kitchen pouring myself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon when I hear the front door open and little footsteps padding down the hall.

“Ann Wory!”

“There’s my Lovebug!” Rory chimes, probably scooping Sage off the ground and into her arms.

And if Sage is here, that means Lane is, too.

As if on cue, he walks into the kitchen, looking like he stepped right out of a magazine. He’s in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up and tucked into a pair of gray plaid slacks.

I’m staring. I know I’m staring, but I can’t help myself.

He’s doing some staring of his own, though, too.

Lane’s throat bobs as he crosses the kitchen in long strides, coming to a stop right in front of me. With his hands on my hips, his gaze locks on mine.

“God, you’re beautiful, Olive.”

“Thank you,” I reply shyly. “You look great yourself.”

“Not as good as you.” He bites his bottom lip. “I’ve never seen anybody as beautiful as you, Ballerina. My God.”

I can’t help but smile under the praise, loving this reaction out of him. I’ve never thought myself unattractive, but after everything I’ve been through, I haven’t really felt beautiful.

That’s no longer true.

How could I not feel that way when Lane is so honest with his words? There’s truth in everything he says, and I have no doubt that he finds me as beautiful as he claims.

“You’re so sweet, Lane,” I smile softly.

“You’re special. Something about you brings this out of me. You have me ready to drop to my knees and worship you, baby.”

Baby.

I heard him call me that when he was comforting me after my nightmare, but I didn’t think much of it.

He means it, though. He’s calling me his baby, and that realization has me glancing at his lips, wanting to get a taste.

This isn’t like me, but maybe the new Olive will be an improved version of the Olive I was at seventeen.

I watch as Lane wets his lips, all the while staring at mine. Seems I’m not the only one with kissing on my mind.

But nothing happens because Rory walks into the kitchen now. “There you a—oh.”

We quickly break apart, but it’s clear something is happening with the way my cheeks are still flushed.

“Hey, Rory,” Lane says nonchalantly, as if he’s not at all affected the way I am right now. “Just talking to Liv.”

---