Chapter 37
Beau
“The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town,” Harleigh singsonged as she and Fable strolled into the restaurant.
She had texted earlier, asking where we were, tossing in a quick excuse for running late—something about needing to finish up extra content.
We were with the whole group, packed in so tight we’d practically taken over the restaurant. I’d saved two seats next to me, hoping they’d show—not that I’d admit it.
Harleigh and Fable scanned the crowded table before their eyes landed on the open spots beside me.
“Look at that,” Harleigh mused, nudging Fable. “Two seats left. Right next to him.”
Fable groaned. “You sit there.”
Harleigh smirked. “No, you sit there.”
“You got here first technically.”
“And you’re a better conversationalist.”
They pushed at each other, a silent battle of wills, until Harleigh finally snapped. “Oh my God, just sit down.”
I sniffed my armpit and deadpanned, “Didn’t think I smelled that bad, Cowgirl.”
Fable let out an exaggerated sigh and dropped into the seat next to me while Harleigh slid in beside her.
Harleigh leaned into her. “You’re so brave.”
“Shut up,” Fable muttered, but even she was fighting a smile as we gave the waitress our orders.
As she walked away, I turned toward Fable, catching the way she sank into her seat like she was trying to disappear. Like she could slip between the cracks of conversation and avoid the one thing sitting thick between us.
The kiss in front of the entire arena.
I let my knee press lightly against hers, not missing the way she tensed. “You’re quiet,” I murmured, tilting my head slightly. “That because of earlier?”
She shot me a sharp look. I could almost see the words forming, but instead of saying them, she exhaled through her nose and looked away.
My chest tightened.
Was she pissed about the kiss? About me saying it in front of everyone before we’d even had the chance to talk? I’d told her we’d clear the air after dinner and then I went and made a damn spectacle anyway. Claimed her with my mouth and a microphone instead of my words.
Coward.
Her scent wrapped around me. The soft brush of her denim jacket dragged against my arm as she shifted, still not looking at me.
I leaned in, my lips grazing beneath her ear. “I’m sorry, baby,” I murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “I shouldn’t have done that out there. Not before we talked.”
Her breath hitched, barely, but I caught it. I didn’t care that we were in a crowded restaurant, surrounded by my friends—er, coworkers—who were definitely side-eyeing, even as they pretended not to.
In that moment, it was all about her.
She turned to face me while the dull restaurant noises faded in the background. “It’s me,” she mumbled. “It’s me who’s embarrassed.” She sighed. “Although that kiss was unexpected, and I hate being the center of attention, so please don’t do that again, but that’s beside the point.”
“It’s not you, Fable. It’s me. I know I’m playing with fire. I know I fucked you and ran, never called, never checked in. Then you show up here, and I act like some angry caveman—”
She giggled, pressing a hand over her mouth to stifle it, but I still caught the sparkle in her eyes. “You were kinda like rawr rawr, feed me, mine.”
I barked out a laugh, shaking my head as I reached under the table, finding her thigh. I gave it a quick squeeze, testing, waiting—seeing how much I could get away with.
She didn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I had no right to come in and make demands of you when I couldn’t even be honest with you to start.”
“I know, but I should’ve realized how scared I was.”
“I messed up,” I said softly, my thumb tracing slow circles on her thigh beneath the table.
“I did too.”
“Can we . . . start over?” I glanced sideways, catching her gaze. “No more running. No more avoiding each other.”
Her green eyes searched mine, and she gave a small nod. “No more running.”
“You lovers done quarreling?” Dalton’s voice interrupted from across the table.
“Ha.” I scoffed, shaking my head as Fable flushed.
The waitress appeared, and we rattled off our orders, though I wasn’t paying much attention to anything except the woman beside me.
Once the waitress left, I leaned close to Fable, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “Wanna wash up in the bathroom? I can come with.”
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Thank you for thinking of me. I already did.”
“Always thinking of you, baby.”
My knee stayed pressed against her leg for the rest of dinner. It was nothing, a small connection, but it was enough. Enough to remind her that I was there. Enough to remind me that she wasn’t running—and neither was I.
For so long, I’d convinced myself that this life wasn’t meant for me. I was better off chasing bulls and one-night stands, never slowing down long enough to want something more.
Want someone more.
I’d seen what love had done to my parents—how my dad had thrown himself into his career, leaving everything else behind. I’d sworn I’d never be like him. Never let myself love someone so much that losing them would break me.
Sitting there, with the warmth of Fable’s leg against mine, her laughter blending with the chatter of friends around us—I wanted this. The simple, quiet comfort of being next to someone who saw me, who understood the chaos, and still chose to stay. It terrified me, knowing how much I already cared.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, watching the way her lips curled into a soft smile as she listened to Dalton’s story. My chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t fear—it was hope. I could try this. For her.
Dinner passed in a blur of laughter and stolen glances. By the time we stepped out onto the sidewalk, the air had turned sharp, biting against my skin through the thin layer of my shirt.
“Shit, it’s cold,” Fable muttered, hugging her denim jacket tighter around her frame. “Where are you going?”
Harleigh was running across the street with Dalton and a few other guys. They were laughing wildly as they dodged the cars.
“Come on,” I said, reaching for her hand without thinking.
Her fingers slipped into mine, cold but soft, and I gave her hand a squeeze as we stepped toward the crosswalk.
The streetlights cast long shadows over the pavement, and the faint hum of traffic blended with the distant sound of laughter from the bar down the street. I glanced both ways, then tugged her hand gently. “Let’s go.”
We darted across the street, boots tapping against the asphalt.
Her giggle carried through the night air as she half ran, half skipped to keep up with my longer strides.
I slowed as we reached the curb, but I didn’t let go of her hand—not when we stepped onto the sidewalk, not when we reached the hotel’s entrance, and not when I turned to look at her beneath the golden glow of the streetlamp.
Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her breath puffing out in soft clouds as she gazed up at me. I could’ve let go then—should’ve, maybe—but I didn’t. Instead, I ran my thumb gently over the back of her hand, savoring the warmth that lingered between us.
“Come on, Cowgirl,” I murmured, my lips tilting into a soft smile as I pulled open the hotel door. “Let’s get you warm.”