SHAWN IS WARM, and he smells like sweat and grass.
He’s still smiling; I can feel the edges of his beam soft against the corners of my mouth. His hand moves from just under my jaw to my sternum and his fingers spread wide across the neckline of my sweater, like he’s desperately searching for bare skin to touch.
He makes a frustrated sound from the back of his throat when he comes up short and finds none, as if what we’re doing isn’t good enough and he wants more.
I think it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
My hands move from his chest to his hair, and his frustration burns out. It fades to delight, to splendor when he tips my chin up with the hook of his thumb and his tongue brushes against my lips. It’s questioning, hesitant. An ask, not a demand. An invitation if I want it, and I melt into him as his kisses turn hungrier, reminiscent of a man starved.
I might burst into a million pieces. I might turn to stardust and ascend to the clouds or somewhere beyond because every press of his fingers, every exhale and little huff of appreciation when I touch the stubble on his cheeks, every inch he pulls me closer drives my want, my need, higher and higher.
Heat caresses the back of my neck. It licks up the line of my spine and across the soft skin of my stomach hidden by clothes like a wildfire. Shawn is slow, purposeful, and a laugh slips out of me when his teeth sink into my bottom lip in a way that should hurt, but feels nothing but magnificent. The sound reverberates down my body when he tugs me closer, his arm looping around my waist and his hand heavy against my hip.
I can’t think. I can’t speak. I’ve never had someone take their time when they kiss me, exploring, relishing, indulging in me like I’m a prize they won and want to show off to the world.
He tastes like peppermint, as if he chugged a sugary seasonal drink before he waltzed over here and stole my breath away. Or marshmallows, maybe, my favorite topping in a warm mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter’s night.
It’s savory and sweet on the tip of my tongue, with a touch of spice. A hint of what else could be hiding behind the press of his mouth, wicked deliciousness that only comes out after dark when he has you alone in his room and spread out on his bed.
Is this how he kisses everyone? I think from the deep recesses of my brain. The small part of me that’s still functioning, that still has my feet on the ground. Or just me?
Shawn drops his forehead to mine, and I blink my eyes open. My vision is hazy, foggy and lust-filled, but I can see him as clear as day. Tiny snowflakes hang on the ends of his eyelashes. Another lands on his nose and lingers there before melting away.
His cheeks are flushed. It’s cold outside, but he’s as hot as the sun. His thumb traces up my jaw and across my mouth. He pulls at my bottom lip like he’s claiming it for himself. As if that kiss didn’t just tattoo his name across every inch of my body.
“Lacey girl,” he says, and his voice is low. Rough, and it sounds like my name has been pulled from the trenches of his chest. An exaltation he wants to bellow to anyone who will listen.
My head is slow to catch up with my body. My limbs are heavy and my brain is working a few steps behind. How could it not be after he sent me to outer space?
Our gazes meet, and there’s fire behind his eyes. A blaze burns in the flecks of gold in his irises. The longer he stares, the longer his attention doesn’t waver, the more I think I’d like the flames to engulf me. Make me one of theirs and never let me go.
He takes a deep breath, and his chest heaves with the guttural inhale. My mouth opens to say something, anything, but words don’t come out. What little train of thought I have left vanishes when the flash of a camera goes off in my face, and a thousand white spots pop up in my vision.
“Shawn, any comment on your relationship with this woman?” someone asks, and I reel back.
My eyes widen, and my hand trembles as it covers my mouth. I look to my right and see a photographer. Their camera is in their hands and their finger hovers over the shutter button, ready to snap another picture.
Reality rushes into me, a wave that knocks me off balance.
Football game.
Kiss cam.
National television.
My best friend kissing me in front of thousands of people.
Shit.
“Delete it,” Shawn says, and there’s not a lick of kindness behind the command as he holds out his hand.
The photographer cradles the Nikon to his chest. The lens is so long, it could probably spot every pore on my face. Capture the horror in my eyes and the fear wedging its way between my shoulder blades like a visitor overstaying their welcome.
“You can’t do that.” He lifts his chin defiantly in a challenge. There’s a badge hanging from his neck, and I see his name in big, bold letters. DARYL KENNEDY, ESPN. “It’s private property.”
“This stadium is also private property. Delete it and hand over the disk, or I’ll make sure you never step foot in here again,” Shawn says, and I can feel his threat between my breasts. At the base of my spine, a fierceness I’ve never heard from him before coming from his mouth.
“Asshole,” the photographer grumbles. He pops out the disk and drops it in Shawn’s hands.
“Thanks,” Shawn says, and he shoves the disk in his pocket to keep it safe. He turns his attention back to me and tucks a piece of hair that’s snuck free from my braids behind my ear. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” The word squeaks, and I clear my throat. “I’m—I’m fine. Why… why wouldn’t I be? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, but I have to get back to the field,” he says without any urgency.
He’s still holding my hip with one hand, and his fingers are dangerously close to the small space of bare skin under the hem of my sweater. I’m still clutching his hair, and the dark brown waves are soft against my palm. Neither of us let go.
“Okay,” I answer.
“We’ll talk later?”
“Of course. Milkshakes, right?”
“Milkshakes,” Shawn repeats. “Right. Just like always.”
His mouth closes then opens. There’s something else he’s not saying, but silence hangs in the air between us. Aiden is the one to break it.
“Shawn,” he says, a gentle coaxing. “The guys are out of the locker room. The second half is about to start.”
Shawn’s hand falls from my side, and he scoots back. His fingers curl around the metal railing and his eyes turn less soft as he looks over his shoulder.
“I’ll see you all in the tunnel after,” he says gruffly. His gaze flicks back to my face, and there’s that dazzling smile again. My heart flutters in my chest, a hundred butterflies waiting to take flight when he runs his knuckles down my cheek and adds, “see ya, Lacey girl,” so softly I know it was only meant for me.
“Bye, Shawn,” I whisper.
I’m not sure if he can hear me over the surrounding noises; the round of applause, the whistles that pierce the late afternoon sky, the loud music pulsing through the speakers and an announcement from the public address system, but I hope he can. I want him to know we’re still us.
He slides off the concrete blocks and jumps to the field, waving off assistance from two nearby security guards and someone from the medical staff. He runs toward his team as he talks into his headset and adjusts the bill of his hat, leaving footprints behind in the fresh dusting of snow. Accepting a jacket from someone on the sidelines, he shrugs the coat up over his shoulders and buries his hands in his pockets.
Those same hands touched me, caressed me, like I was something precious. Something to be adored. No man has ever treated me so delicately.
I grip the back of my chair and collapse into my seat. It’s quieter down here, and I can block out the noise and the people trying to get my attention.
“Lacey,” Maggie says. She drops into the plastic chair beside me. Her knees knock against mine, and she takes my hands in hers. They’re softer than Shawn’s, but not nearly as warm or nice to touch. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” I lift my chin and give her a smile I hope is convincing. I nod toward the field and gesture vaguely at someone in a jersey doing something sports related. It’s better than stewing in my thoughts. “I hope the Titans can keep their momentum in the second half.”
Maggie snaps her fingers in front of my face and frowns. “One kiss with Shawn and suddenly you’re a football expert?”
I laugh and rest my head on her shoulder. “I’m fine, Mags. Really. That was clearly a friend helping out another—shit. Where’s Matthew?” I ask.
“He left,” Aiden says, and he’s trying not to smile. “He had some nice comments on the way out about the middle class and how people who work in hospitality suck. It was weird. The crowd gave him a nice farewell, too. I’ve never seen so many people flick off a single person in my life. Well, that’s not true. I saw a Red Sox game in Boston once, and—”
“Honey,” Maggie says. “Now is not the time.”
“Sorry.” Aiden gives her a sheepish grin and takes the seat on my other side.
“What a disaster,” I say. “Is it wrong that I feel bad for Matthew? This is my fault. I should’ve just—I don’t know. Hid under my seat or not let the antagonizing get to me. Oh, my god. I was pushing him to do something he didn’t want to do.”
“Your fault?” Maggie asks. She shakes her head and hugs me tight. “That was not your fault, sweetie. If this was about a personal boundary he didn’t want to cross, he would’ve expressed that to you or he wouldn’t have made a spectacle about the whole thing. This was an exertion of his power and trying to be better than everyone else. If he doesn’t want to kiss the woman he’s on the date with, even in a platonic, friendly and fun way, then he’s not the one for you. You’re someone who always looks for the fun in life, Lace.”
“I didn’t like that kind of attention,” I admit. “I felt trapped. Like it was an invasion of privacy, almost.”
“Let’s sue the camera guy,” Aiden declares, and I pat his arm in appreciation. “Fuck him and fuck him for not getting the hint the first seven times.”
“Seven?” Maggie asks. “I think it was more like nine.”
“Let’s just forget it happened, okay? It’s no big deal. Matthew is gone, the camera is gone, and the Titans are playing in a close game. We have other things to worry about,” I say.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Maggie asks, and I nod.
“I’ve never been better, Mags, but I could use another drink. I’m freezing my ass off.”
