Page 73 of Hometown Touchdown
“Hey,” she murmurs, voice still scratchy from sleep.
“Hey,” I say, brushing her hair back. “Sleep okay?”
She hums, nodding, stretching. Her shirt—my shirt, actually—rides up her thigh as she does. I don’t stand a chance.
“Well,” she says, eyes twinkling now. “That was probably the hottest PG-13 night of my life.”
I laugh, low and rough. “PG-13, huh?”
“I mean, we were one hip roll away from an R-rating. And you, Mr. Dalton, were extremely well-behaved.”
I smirk. “Don’t give me too much credit. I thought about breaking that rule every five seconds.”
She leans in, presses a kiss to my jaw, then lingers at my ear. “You can misbehave next time.”
My cock’s reaction is instant and involuntary.
She grins wickedly, then sighs and pulls away, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “But sadly, I’ve got to log in for work in thirty minutes. Which means I need to walk of shame my ass next door and pretend I don’t still feel your hands on my thighs.”
My jaw clenches at the thought of her leaving this bed. Of pretending again like we’re not…this.
I sit up beside her, my voice rough. “You could work from here.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “If I do that, I’ll never get anything done. Especially if you keep walking around shirtless and calling me baby girl.”
I tug her in one last time and kiss her, slow and deep. “Fine. Go log in. But you’re coming back tonight.”
She hesitates at the edge of the bed, looking over her shoulder at me in the sheets, still messy from the night before. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I think I am.”
Gordy’s is packed for a Wednesday night—shoulder-to-shoulder bodies, music turned up, and the smell of fried food clinging to everything. The booths are full, the bar’s two deep, and someone’s already yelling along to a Luke Combs song like it’s karaoke night.
I spot our table near the back. Cam and Ty already posted up with beers, Kate tucked into the corner, her smile wide as she waves me over. Kinsey’s there too, finally off for once, her legs kicked over the side of the bench like she owns the whole damn place.
And Brynn. She’s laughing at something Ty just said, head tilted back, her green sweater dress hugging every curve I’ve tried not to dream about all damn week.
It’s the first time we’ve been out like this—public, surrounded by our friends—and I can already feel the eyes on us. People trying to clock where we stand. Watching for a fight. Or a kiss.
And we’re giving them neither.
“Dalton!” Ty hollers. “Took you long enough. You look like you came straight from scaring freshmen.”
I slide into the open seat beside Cam, across from Brynn. “Not freshmen. Juniors. Worse attitudes, less excuses.”
Brynn’s eyes flick to mine—quick, assessing. A smile teases the edge of her mouth, but she doesn't say anything. Not yet.
“God, I hated junior year,” Kinsey says, stealing a fry from Kate’s plate. “That was the year I got dumped on homecoming night and broke my wrist punching a vending machine.”
Kate huffs. “That was the same night I burned off half my bangs with a curling wand.”
Cam nods sagely. “Ah yes. Peak adolescence. I was grounded for stealing the principal’s golf cart.”
Ty whistles. “Okay, I suddenly feel like I’m boring. I just had a crush on my chem teacher and cried when she got engaged.”
“Youcried?” Brynn grins, leaning in. “Never pegged you for a romantic, Ty.”
“It was formative,” Ty says with mock seriousness. “She changed the way I look at the periodic table.”
Laughter ripples around the table, and for a second, it’s easy. Comfortable.
