Chapter 15 – Lena #2
"You good?" His mouth was still close enough that I felt the words more than heard them.
I nodded because I didn't trust my voice. He pulled back, his thumb tracing one lazy circle on my shoulder before he stood and headed toward the coolers, and Marli watched him go with her chin propped on her knee then looked at me with raised eyebrows.
"Okay, what did you do to him?" she said. "I've been around this team for a year and I've never seen Trace that attentive."
"It's not—" I started, but she was already shaking her head.
"No, no, I'm just saying. Ryder has never once brought me a plate. I'm taking notes."
The sun was getting low when I saw Matt standing with his group at the edge of the Commons, hands in his pockets, dark hair brushed back and glasses catching the light, wearing his usual arrogant smirk like an accessory. The blonde from the party was nowhere in sight.
I braced for the anger, the hurt, the sting of rejection.
Nothing.
The sight of him was like looking at a stranger who used to be important but wasn't anymore.
When did that happen?
I searched for the jealousy that had been eating me alive since he'd dumped me over pad thai, and pressed on the bruise and found it healed. Not fading but healed, like my body had quietly moved on without bothering to tell me.
I glanced at Trace beside me, at his jaw and his mouth and the easy way he held me like I was already his, and I knew exactly where all that hurt had gone. It hadn't disappeared. It had been replaced.
Oh no.
Trace followed my gaze and his jaw tightened. "Matt?" he asked, low and careful.
I nodded, my mouth going dry. "Yeah."
His arm tightened around me, and then in one smooth motion he tugged me sideways into his lap. "Let the show begin," he murmured against my ear.
I landed across his thighs with his arm banding around my waist, and then he stopped. His mouth hovered over mine, close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips but not touching, not yet, and his eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there.
He inhaled, deep and slow, like he was breathing me in.
Then his mouth found mine.
The kiss was soft and slow, nothing like the arena.
This one was deliberate, his lips moving over mine like he had all the time in the world.
His tongue teased the seam of my lips, not pushing, just tracing, and when I opened for him he licked into my mouth with a low sound in the back of his throat that vibrated through my whole body.
His hand slid up my back, fingers spreading wide between my shoulder blades, pressing me into his chest until I could feel his heartbeat against my arm.
Or maybe that was mine, because I couldn't tell anymore.
This was supposed to be just pretend.
But my body wasn't pretending. My fingers were in his hair before I could stop them, scraping against his scalp, and he sucked on my bottom lip, gently, then not gently, until my stomach dropped the way it does on a roller coaster, except lower.
When he pulled back, I was breathless and lost in his eyes. His eyes were dark and his lips were wet, and there was something there, something that looked almost like—
Don't. Don't read into it.
Trace's teammates lost it and Waylon cupped his hands around his mouth. "Yo, get a room! This is a charity event, not OnlyFans!"
Trace chuckled and wrapped his arms around me tighter, like he couldn't bear to let me go.
My eyes darted back to Matt. His smirk was gone and his hands had curled into fists at his sides, his jaw working once, twice, before he caught me watching and forced a nonchalant shrug, but it was too late because I'd already seen it.
Good. Feel that, Matt. That's what it's like.
Trace leaned closer with his lips brushing my ear. "Mission accomplished." His hand found the bare skin at the small of my back where my shirt had ridden up. "But maybe we should make sure."
Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine again, and this time there was nothing soft about it.
His hand cradled the back of my head, fingers tangling in my braids, angling my mouth against his until his tongue swept against mine and I grabbed the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in my fist, pulling him closer when I should have been pulling away.
I could taste the cinnamon from the brownie he'd eaten and underneath it just him, that taste I'd been chasing in my dreams for a week.
He pulled back slowly with his forehead against mine, then pressed his lips to my forehead, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. Each kiss lighter than the last, and somehow they were worse than the deep ones. Because they were tender. Because they were real.
I let myself enjoy it for just a second, the careful way he held me, the way his thumb stroked the line of my jaw like I was something worth being gentle with. My eyes stung and I blinked hard, grateful he couldn't see my face.
Then the second passed and I pulled the walls back up.
"Is this good?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he traced circles on my back.
I managed to nod. His fingers on my back, the taste of him still on my lips, his body solid and warm under me, all of it hit at once, a sharp throb between my legs that made my breath hitch, and I squeezed my thighs together until his arm tightened around my waist like he knew.
Fake. This is fake. You are sitting in this man's lap because of a deal, not because you want to live here.
Except I kind of wanted to live here.
When my eyes found Matt again, he glowered back before stalking off.
Mission accomplished.
Because the kisses weren’t fake. That was the problem.