Beauty and the Baller

I look up at Ronan, my voice low. “Technically, I never got my coffee. Your big body bumped into me.”

“You bumped into me, babe.” He smiles as his hands move up my arms to my throat. It’s a tantalizing, possessive action. He lets one rest there, holding me as our eyes cling. I feel the pulse in my neck throbbing. I picture how it must look: me in his hat, us in the middle of the store, our chests nearly touching, his fingers toying with the neckline of my ancient T-shirt.

Intimate.

“I think that’s enough,” I murmur as I bat my lashes. “She’s probably going to sneak in my house and murder me after this.”

“I won’t let her. Plus, don’t you want Paisley to think you’re banging the hot football coach?”

“Who said you were hot?”

His eyes glitter at me. “You, Nova Morgan, may not like me, but you think I’m sexy. I know this.”

“You’re an egotistical ass.”

“Hmm. I think you like that too. Let’s test a theory.”

“What theory?”

“A primal one,” he purrs as he drags his thumb over my bottom lip.

I’m too shocked to move. It feels like I’m back at the Mercer Hotel, his undivided attention laser focused on me.

My breath quickens. In for a penny . . . “All right. Quit stalling, and get it over with.”

“I’m making sure they see us. Be patient.” His fingers trace up my jawline to my hair, rubbing the strands through his fingers.

“Oh, I can feel people looking.” My body is hyperaware of everything, especially him. I don’t drop his gaze, but I know Allie is looking. Maybe the mop boy.

He bends down into my neck and bites my earlobe. “You smell like apples.”

I gasp. “Perfume . . . reminds me of home . . . long story about Mrs. Meadows’s trees . . .”

“Hmm.” He tilts my chin up, and his eyes are that hot, stormy color. Oh . . .

He takes my mouth hesitantly, with small brushing kisses. One, two, three times, testing and tender. He wraps his arms around my waist and slants his mouth differently, deepening the kiss. I pause, tempted to push him away, but instead part my lips, my tongue touching his. Sparks ignite inside my body. His fingers slide around and cup my scalp as he kisses me, tasting, exploring every corner of my mouth. Heat rushes over my skin, and my hands, which hadn’t known what to do, move up his broad chest and tangle in his hair.

He steps back, his chest rising rapidly.

We breathe for a good five seconds.

“Not bad for a fake kiss,” I manage.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he announces with me still in his arms. “My place.”

My gaze darts over to Melinda and Paisley. Both are staring, mouths slightly ajar. Melinda has a flush on her face, her eyes brittle, and Paisley blinks at me in disbelief.

“Sure,” I reply, then whisper, “Not,” before I twirl away.

I’m still recovering my pulse rate when he stops at the entrance and sends me a smile and a heated look. Give him an Academy Award. Then he sends me a thumbs-up and is out the door, all business. A long sigh leaves my chest.

Leaving the dining area, I head to the stacks to find Sabine. By the time I make it back to the front with her, Melinda and Paisley have gone.

I touch my lips . . .

How am I supposed to forget that kiss?

He probably already has.

I laugh.

“I found a book on orgasms,” Sabine says, and I start and take it out of her hands and set it down on a shelf. We finally had the “orgasm talk.” I focused on being factual, which is how she relates best. I found a photo in Mama’s sex book and used a pen to point out the part of a woman’s anatomy that’s likely to lead to climax. I was detailed and scientific. Being honest and practical with her does not encourage her to engage in sex. Knowledge gives her power and prevents her from feeling shameful about her body.

“What? It’s about surprising new science that can transform your life. See, it says so right on the front. You’re single. Maybe you can read it.”

“I don’t have a sex life. And I’ve told you everything I know. That book is a gimmick.”

“I don’t have a sex life either, but I will someday.”

“Not tomorrow or anytime in the next ten years,” I say.

“Were you a virgin at fifteen?”

“Yes.” Andrew was my first. At sixteen. It was too soon.

She sets her books on the counter. The guy at the checkout is the mop boy; then I see his name tag.

“Hello, Toby,” I mutter. So. This is why she wanted to come today.

He’s attractive: tall with short dark hair, soft brown eyes, and broad shoulders. She has good taste.

He gives me a hesitant glance. “Hi, Ms. Morgan. Nice to meet ya. Hey, Sabine, did you find everything you wanted?”