Chapter 30
brANDON
Empty Chinese food containers litter the countertop of Chris and Jace’s apartment, evidence of our postgame celebration. The apartment is crowded with teammates and friends, everyone still riding the high of today’s win, but I’ve barely registered anyone else’s presence since we arrived.
I lean against the kitchen counter, nursing the same beer I’ve had for the past hour, more out of habit than thirst. I need a clear head tonight.
The adrenaline from the game still thrums through me, but it’s shifted—transformed into something quieter, sharper—as I watch Tatum tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her blue-violet eyes catch the light when she laughs at something her friends say, the sound cutting through the music and chatter like it’s meant for me alone.
Her head tips back, exposing the graceful line of her throat, and I swear the air in the room changes.
Maybe she feels it too, because her laughter falters. She glances up, her gaze snagging on mine across the room. A faint flush creeps up her neck, and when she gives me that small, private smile, my heart slams hard enough to drown out the noise around us.
All week I’ve been patient, making her wait, building the anticipation with lingering touches and heated glances.
I wanted her to crave this as desperately as I do, to think about nothing else the way I’ve thought about nothing but her for years.
But watching her now, the soft curve of her lips, the way her sweater slips off one shoulder revealing creamy, smooth skin I’m desperate to taste—I know I can’t hold out any longer.
Damon snorts beside me, taking the untouched beer from my hands. “Just get on with it already, will you? The tension between you two is making everyone uncomfortable.”
I cut him with a glare, but he’s already gone, turning toward his girlfriend Avery, and leaving me alone with my thoughts.
What the hell am I waiting for?
If I’m being honest, maybe delaying the inevitable isn’t just because I want her to anticipate it. The truth is, I’m so damn afraid that once she gets what she wants, and it’s over, she’ll walk away.
With a grunt, I push off the counter and cross the room, our eyes locked on each other the entire time.
“Coming to steal me away?” she teases, and I grin.
“Something like that.”
I hold out my hand, and she doesn’t hesitate before slipping hers into mine. The second our fingers touch, something shifts. I lead her toward the kitchen, away from the noise and the crowd, needing just a minute where it’s only us.
I drop onto one of the stools, tugging her gently into my lap when she lets out a soft gasp, her hands bracing against my shoulders.
“In case I haven’t told you yet,” she says, watching me closely, “you were incredible tonight. It’s maybe the best I’ve ever seen you play.”
“It felt good being back on the field,” I murmur, my thumb tracing idle circles against her hip. “But seeing you in the stands again . . . that was even better.”
“I never should’ve missed a single game,” she says quietly, regret threading through her voice. Her eyes lift to mine, bright and unguarded.
“It’s okay. You’re back now, and that’s all that matters.” My hand finds her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her sweater, brushing her warm skin. “Which is why I had to make sure I impressed you,” I say with a crooked smile.
“Oh, really?” she counters, shifting slightly on my lap, the movement over my groin driving me wild. “So, all those plays were just for me?”
“Every single one,” I answer, voice low, gaze dropping to her mouth. “Then again, everything I do is for you, Tate.”
The teasing light in her eyes fade, replaced by something deeper. Her fingers slide into my hair, slow and sure, and the faint tremor in my chest turns molten.
“Brandon,” she whispers, and hearing my name fall from her lips like that—soft, breathless—is all the invitation I need.
I capture her mouth with mine, the kiss starting slow, tender, like we’re both afraid to break the spell.
But it deepens fast, turns hungry. My hand slips up her back, drawing her closer until there’s no space left between us.
Her lips part beneath mine, and I take my time, tasting her—amaretto and sweetness and something that’s just her.
A quiet moan vibrates against my mouth, and it unravels what little restraint I had left. When I finally pull back, her cheeks are flushed, eyes dark and glassy as she looks down at me.
I brush my lips against her ear, my voice barely more than a rasp. “Wanna get out of here?”