Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
KENNETH
Every muscle in my body is thrumming with tension as I sneak away from Royce and the executive they’re speaking with. My lips are still tingling from our kisses, my tie is slightly crooked despite my attempts to fix it, and I'm pretty sure it’s obvious what I’ve been up to.
That something being kissing Royce Bellport.
Finally.
Fucking finally.
I lean against the wall, trying to get my breathing under control. This is insane. We're supposed to be in work mode, yet all I can think about is the way they tasted, the sounds they made as they devoured me, the way their hands felt on my body.
"Get it together, Meyer," I mutter to myself.
My phone buzzes. A text from Gillies.
Gillies: Where are you? Game is about to start. Team could use a pep talk.
Kenneth: Can’t make it. I’m about to go to the suite with Royce. Plus, there’s not enough time.
Gillies: LAME. Have fun with the family. I want details on if you nutted up and did ‘the move’ on them. Details!!
Kenneth: Focus on the game. You score two home runs, and we’ll talk.
Gillies: Deal. Tell Bellamy and crew I say hi.
Right. The Bellports. I'm supposed to meet Royce's entire family in about five minutes, and I look like I just tumbled out of bed.
Since I feel about as blissed out as one would after such a kiss, it makes sense. Still, I don’t think it’s best to meet them looking… however I look.
I duck into the nearest bathroom, checking my reflection.
My hair is a disaster—I try to smooth it down but give up after a few attempts.
My tie is an easy fix, but there's a slight redness around my mouth that's definitely from Royce's stubble.
I splash some cold water on my face, trying to cool the heat that's still simmering under my skin.
This is fine. I can do this.
I've given presentations to boards of directors, negotiated million-dollar deals, handled my mother's cutting remarks for thirty-plus years.
I can meet my… what? My partner's family?
Are we partners now? We haven't exactly defined it, but after what just happened, after the things we said to each other—
My phone buzzes again. It’s my alarm to remind me to get to the suite. I’d set it earlier to make sure Royce and I didn’t get too deep into work to miss the opening pitch.
I take one more look in the mirror, straighten my jacket, and head toward the Bellport family suite.
The noise hits me before I reach it—laughter, conversation, the excited buzz of people ready to watch a game. I pause with my hand on the handle, my heart suddenly pounding for an entirely different reason.
I can’t go in alone. That would be too weird.
Instead, I step to the side of the door and close my eyes. Deep breath in and out settle my nerves. Time to put my game face on. No reason to give people a reason to talk.
Own the way you look.
The thoughts put me at ease. So much so that when Royce shows up, they seem shocked I’m so calm. It could also be the look I’m giving them, since I’m sure my desire still radiates despite trying to push it down. I can’t help but to want them.
"Ready?" they ask once they’re close.
"Ready," I confirm.
They open the door as the announcement for the national anthem echoes through the space. It gives me a minute to take everything in. It also helps me prepare to pretend I haven't spent the last however long with my tongue down their sibling's throat.
The suite is beautiful with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the field, plush seating, a full bar and catering spread. But I barely notice any of it because all I can focus on is my nerves.
As the anthem plays, I glance around the room. It’s full of people, the majority of who I’ve never met and can’t recognize. These people matter to Royce, which means I definitely need to learn who they are.
One of the few people I do recognize is Bellamy Bellport. He’s going to be the hardest to convince if we ever reach the “telling everyone about us” stage.
Bellamy's opinion matters. Considering I've already got one strike against me from high school, from being associated with Clark, from being part of Royce's worst memories, I have to assume I’m not his favorite choice for Royce’s partner in life.
What if they see through me? What if they realize I'm not good enough for Royce? What if—
Bellamy waves us over as soon as the song finishes. Royce takes the initiative to speak to everyone once we’ve made our way fully into the group.
"Thank you all for coming. I'm so grateful to have you here for this first game. Before we get started, I want to introduce Kenneth Meyer, the previous owner and manager of the Blue Jays. He's been instrumental in helping me with this transition, and I couldn't have done any of this without him."
I smile at their kind words. It sounds all professional, yet I can hear the honesty beneath them.
Bellamy is the first to extend a hand my way. "Kenneth. Glad you’re here today."
"Wouldn't miss it," I say, shaking his hand. His grip is firm, assessing. He's looking at me like he's trying to figure me out, and I resist the urge to adjust my tie again.
"Let me introduce you to everyone," Bellamy says, and then I'm being swept through a whirlwind of names and faces.
Royce's parents are warm and welcoming, though I catch Royce's mother giving me a long, considering look. Their other siblings, whom I recognize from years of, well, stalking basically.
Carmen with a baby girl strapped to her chest gives me a friendly smile. Austin, her husband, wrestles with a young boy who looks like he has already hit up the dessert section of the buffet.
Everyone is polite, friendly even. But I can't shake the feeling that they're all evaluating me, trying to figure out what exactly my role is here beyond "previous owner helping with the transition."
"So you're stepping down?" Royce's father, who insists I call him Maxwell, asks. "That's quite a decision."
"It was time. The team deserves someone who can give them a new perspective, and Royce is more than capable. They're going to do amazing things here."
A shift crosses his expression—approval, maybe. "That's generous of you to say."
"It's the truth."
Royce appears at my elbow with a bottle of water, which I accept gratefully.
The conversation flows around me, and I do my best to engage, to be charming and professional.
But part of my mind is still back in that hallway, with Royce pressed against me, their hands in my hair, their voice saying, “After the game, your place.”
I swear I can feel their pulse racing in time with mine. We’re so close our shoulders touch.
"Tonight," they murmur, so quietly only I can hear. But their tone is sharp, almost challenging. Like they're debating whether this is a good idea or not.
"Tonight," I confirm, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
They step away from me then, moving to speak with someone across the room. It should make it easier to mingle.
It doesn’t.
Every time Royce moves around the suite, I can't help but watch them. The way they command the room, the way they light up when talking about the team, the way they deliberately avoid looking at me for long stretches, like they're trying to prove they're not affected.
But I see the way their jaw clenches when I laugh at anything Finn Bellport says. The way their eyes track me when they think I'm not looking. The tension is still there, crackling between us like a live wire.
"You've got it bad," Bellamy says, appearing at my side again.
"What?! I don’t… I’m not sure."
"Looking at someone like that usually means you are sure. Unless you’re being an asshole to them? Is that what’s going on here? Is it a game to you?”
I shake my head so hard it’s a wonder I don’t need a doctor. “No games here. Other than the one going on outside. I can’t, I wouldn’t, do that to them. I’ve been waiting.”
“Waiting,” Bellamy repeats, voice softer than before. His eyes peer into the deepest parts of me. It’s like he’s digging through it all—my past, present, and hopeful future—to be sure I mean what I say.
Eventually, he smiles and pats my shoulder. He doesn’t say anything though. Instead he walks away, leaving me with a million and one questions.
My gaze immediately hunts down Royce. They’re what my focus should be on right now.
Finding them playing with baby Lee is a surprise. So is the desire that punches through me at seeing them all carefree and happy.
I want to kiss them. Want to pull them close and celebrate today properly. But we're surrounded by people, by their family, so instead I just let myself imagine it all until we can be together later.
The drive home is a blur. I text Royce my address, then spend the entire ride trying to calm down. This is happening. Royce is coming to my place. We're going to—
I don't let myself finish the thought.
I also ignore the buzzing of my phone as I drive. It’s all through text, which means it’s probably Gillies demanding those details from earlier. He didn’t stop at two home runs during the game. The man made it to four, beating his previous record.
That asshole.
After parking in my assigned spot, I pull up the thread with his messages. Sure enough, he’s being a demanding little shit about the bet.
Gillies: Guess who hit those home runs? THIS GUY!
Gillies: That means you’ve got to give me the deets. And I do mean alllll of them.
Gillies: Did it go well? Did they seem shocked? Did you go straight for the kiss?
Gillies: Of course you did. Why am I even asking that? Was it a good kiss!!??
Gillies: I mean, we’ve never made out, but you seem like a decent guy. Surely, you know a thing or two. As long as you didn’t have onions or anything right before you’re solid.
Gillies: You’re not answering me. WTF, dude. Get back here.
Gillies: Oh, wait. Are you with them now?? Is that why you won’t answer? You sly dog.
I reply, if only for the fact that I don’t need my phone buzzing all night. My focus is going to be on Royce only.