Chapter 15 Bella #2
“Hey,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Bennett rubbed the back of his neck, the tiniest bit sheepish. “Matty and I were at Would Smell as Sweet, loading up on caffeine and sugar while we finished planning the Junior Roasters clinic.”
Matty jumped in, eyes dancing. “That’s right. And then Bennett got this . . . intense craving for fresh vegetables. Really urgent, couldn’t wait.”
Bennett shot him a look that could’ve frozen lava.
“We ran into this guy by the hummus stand,” Matty continued, jerking a thumb toward Roman.
“Yeah, me and chickpeas are like this,” Roman added, crossing one finger over another.
“Well, well, well.” Parker’s eyes narrowed in on the Roasters’ third baseman. “Roman Garcia.”
“Parker Duffy. It’s been a minute.” Roman’s eyes crinkled at the corners and a lazy, Cheshire cat grin spread across his face. “How’s Kitty Cat these days?”
She crossed her arms under her chest. “Catarina’s good. Her ice cream shop is thriving, but you would know if you ever came home.”
Roman laughed, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression that gave me pause. Guilt, maybe. Or shame. It was there and gone so fast I almost missed it, but I’d spent enough time learning how to mask my own emotions to recognize the micro-twitch of his jaw.
“You’re from Awful too?” The question slipped out before I could soften it.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, the cocky edge gone from his voice. “My family has a ranch about three miles down the road from the Duffy’s place. Been in the family since my great granddad homesteaded it in the thirties.”
The image hit me fast and hard.
Roman in dusty boots and worn denim, his hat tipped low over his rich, caramel skin. Damn.
“Stop picturing it,” Bennett growled.
I startled out of the daydream. “What are you—”
“Garcia,” he muttered, stepping closer so the others wouldn’t hear. There was a flicker of something jealous in his eyes that made my insides go liquid. “Straddling a horse. Probably in assless chaps.”
“I hadn’t gotten that far,” I told him.
“And you never will.”
He gently tugged me a few steps away from the booth, just far enough that the rest of the chatter faded.
He cleared his throat. “So, Valentine’s Day.”
I groaned before he could finish. “Ugh, I can’t wait for it to be over.”
“I take it you’re not a fan?”
“Of flowers that die in three days and crowded restaurants with overinflated menu prices? No, thank you. It’s a scam invented by greeting card companies and chocolate lobbyists, though I do like when the chocolate goes on sale the day after.”
Bennett’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “Noted.”
“I mean, what’s the point of having a single designated day to show somebody you care? It’s just performative—”
“Bella.” He caught my flailing hands in his. His thumbs brushed over my knuckles, and I shut up mid-rant. “I’m trying to ask you out. For Valentine’s Day.”
I stared at him. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” He squeezed my hands lightly. “I don’t need all the other lovey-dovey, commercialized crap either, but I would like to spend time with you.”
My heart was doing somersaults now. “Really?”
He nodded. “But if it makes you feel better, we can make it an . . . unromantic non-date date.”
“No roses?”
“No.”
“Or stupid stuffed bears with each other’s names on them?”
He laughed. “Nope.”
“And you won’t try to get me naked?”
“Not—”
I giggled when he caught himself. “Just kidding.”
Then, before I could overthink the crowd or the cold or the fact that we were standing in the middle of a farmers market, I pushed up on my toes and kissed him.
It was quick and impulsive. I felt him freeze for about half a heartbeat before his hands tightened on my waist and he kissed me back.
Mm, cinnamon. Tastes like . . . mine.
I pulled away first, cheeks blazing. Oh, fuck. I’d just kissed him. In front of everyone. Had I made a mistake doing it in public? What if he didn’t like PDA?
Bennett didn’t give me time to spiral.
This time, when his mouth touched mine, the knot in my stomach unraveled.
A loud wolf whistle sliced through the air, followed by a cacophony of cheers from his teammates, plus a handful of nearby market shoppers.
“Get it, King,” Roman shouted.
At the same time, Matty grumbled, “It’s about damn time.”
I laughed against Bennett’s lips, the sound bubbling up before I could stop it.
He made a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, a growl that I felt more than heard. His hand slid from my cheek to my chin, his fingers firm as he tilted my face exactly where he wanted.
He held me there, not letting me pull away even an inch, and kissed me again, deeper this time, like he was staking a claim right in front of his friends and the Saturday morning kale crowd.
By the time he finally eased back, I was clinging to his coat just to stay upright. He brushed a loose curl behind my ear.
“Don’t you have a hat?” he asked.
I laughed, still a little breathless. “I left it at home.”
He didn’t say anything else. Just reached up, peeled his own beanie off, and, before I could protest, pulled it down over my head instead. His hands lingered for a second longer than necessary, thumbs brushing my temples as he adjusted it so it sat just right.
The warmth was immediate.
“There,” he said quietly.
Somewhere behind me, I heard Parker stage-whisper, “Told you. Horny red.”