Page 107 of Cherry Picking
I nod, pressing my lips together to fend off a full blown giggle. “Like Mash barked for him to apologize, called him out in front of the entire drunk-off-their-asses team, and Rory Collins orgasmed on the spot.”
I was incredibly hammered myself, and if it wasn’t for what I witnessed after, I’m not sure I would have remembered.
Mash taking Rory to the bathrooms to clean up, pressing him against the wall just outside it.
“Don’t cry, babydoll. I love you. It’s okay to fuck up. When I get to punish you, it means I get to love on you more after. See? Let’s clean you up and give Riley a call. How about that?”
Of which I’d promptly turned away because it was far too intimate a moment for me to intrude on, and they’d mentioned Riley, andohhad it made my heart ache with the force of missing him.
“I think the entire team is in on it now, but no one wants to be the one to say it out loud and out them, you know?”
“You think they were like that with us, too?”
I cock my head, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of our bodies settling together. Like this is their natural state. Intertwined.
“Maybe.”
It’s Hawks stepping into our bubble that reminds us the rest of the world exists, our captain holding out two drinks:
A spiced rum and a cherry bomb.
Because choosing alcohol for me is a shot in the dark, they can never go wrong with Redbull.
We take our drinks, Hawks watching us with one arm crossed over his chest and the other bringing his glass to his lips.
“So. Riley. Coach says you’re looking into potential coaching opportunities?”
I’d been grasping at straws when I suggested Riley keep working with the team next season. An excuse to keep him close. That kernel of fear that the slightest thing could tear us apart or make him run.
It’s irrational, but my mind loves nothing more than supplying the worst case scenario to send me into an anxious spiral.
We came home that first day—home,ourhome—and immediately Riley got down to it. Networking with the coaches on the team, our GM, anyone he could think might have answers or advice.
“Gotta hit the ground running,” he says, taking a sip of his spiced rum and hooking his chin on the top of my head. I’m leaning, so our height difference is more apparent than usual.
“We’ll miss you if you ship off to greener pastures.”
Hawks’ words make my stomach twist, but Riley only laughs and tightens his hold around me.
“Don’t worry. You won’t be rid of me. Even if our paths split us up, Griff is still my top priority.” He sets his drink on the air hockey table no one is using and pulls me closer into him. “I’ll be around.”
Because we’re in this together.
I turn my face into his neck, hiding the flush crawling across my cheeks. “Dance with me?”
He smiles, lips brushing my ear, my jaw. “Course, baby.”
Baby.
I drag him away, and it’s like a divine sign of fate that has the upbeat song playing overhead turn into a quiet piano tune followed by a soft, soulful voice.
As we pass the bar, I grab two glow stick necklaces: an orange and a red. When we find an unoccupied spot on the dancefloor, I loop the orange one around Riley’s neck and slip the red one around my own.
He smiles sweet and indulgent, arms claiming my waist as mine weave into his unruly copper curls. My skin prickles with the awareness that eyes are sweeping over us. Stopping. Staring. Moving on.
It excites me something akin to a child procuring a new toy at the store after begging and bartering with their parents until they caved.
I have him.
