Catch

Maren watches as I chew. “Does it have to do with Pace and that picture?”

“His dick?” I ask as soon as I swallow.

She lets out a stuttered laugh. “Yes.”

“What a fucked up mess that was.” I shake my head.

“You swore,” she points out. “You owe…”

“A hundred.” I nod, taking another bite from the breadstick.

“I read the statement Pace posted to his Instagram account.” She touches the edge of the basket with her fingernail but pulls back. “You wrote that, didn’t you?”

I swallow the bread with a sip of beer. “How could you tell?”

“It was balanced.” She rests her forearms on the table. “I think if Pace had been in charge, it would have been something like, ‘ You’re lucky you saw my penis, but it won’t happen again. Or it might .’ And he would have added the emoji with the tongue sticking out and an eggplant one too.”

I huff out a laugh. “That’s fucking hilarious, Maren.”

She laughs too. “Have you read his posts? I lost count of how many eggplant emojis he’s posted over the past few months?”

I laugh harder. “You’ve been stalking him?”

“Absolutely not.” She hiccups her way through a laugh. “I looked at his account when I met him. It was for research only.”

She drops her hand in the middle of the table when another hiccup falls from her. “Your hiccup cure. I need it.”

It’s not a fucking cure. It’s a distraction. If I keep her talking, the hiccups will fade away. It’s a trick my grandfather taught me a long time ago.

I don’t tell her that as I cradle her hand in mine in the middle of the small table. I press my thumb into her palm.

She hiccups again. “You said fucking hilarious, so you owe another hundred.”

It’s worth it to see the satisfaction in her expression whenever she catches me cursing.

“Pace and a few other athletes I represent are going to do a photo shoot in a few weeks.”

Sucking in a long, deep breath, she narrows her eyes. “That’s related to his dick pic?”

Hearing her talking about a dick makes me hard. I wish we were discussing mine, but patience reaps the greatest rewards in life.

I press her palm harder. “The guys will pose nude with strategically placed sports gear. The proceeds will go to an organization doing great research work for prostate cancer.”

The hiccups have vanished, but I hold tight to her hand.

She glances down. “That’s a brilliant way to spin this situation. You thought of it, didn’t you?”

Pride fills me. I’ve never worried whether a woman sees the best in me. I want Maren to know that there’s more to me than meets the eye.

I nod. “If you can spin a screw up into something beneficial, do it.”

She smiles in agreement. “I agree.”

Her gaze drops to her palm. “My hiccups are gone.”

I let go when I feel her tug her hand free of mine.

“Thank you, Keats.”

For what? For holding her hand while I talked to her? I’m the one who should be thanking her.

I search her face looking for a clue into how she’s feeling. She seems more relaxed than when she spotted Bianca outside the restaurant.

“What can I do to help with the photo shoot?” she asks quietly. “Do you need a photographer booked? Is there a place where you rent sports equipment, or will they bring their own? Should we get some robes for in between the shots, or are they fine to walk around nude?”

Forcing back a laugh, I smile. “I’ll need your help scheduling session times for all the guys. We’ll set up transportation to and from the studio for them. A few are flying to New York to do it, so we’ll have to get flights and accommodations sorted.”

She turns to where her purse is sitting on the table. With a slide of her hand inside, her phone appears.

Her lips move in silence as she repeats everything I just said. Her fingers fly over the screen of the phone. I assume to make notes of what needs to be done.

“I’ll take care of all of this for you.”

I want to take care of you. I open my mouth, wishing I had the goddamn courage to take the leap and say it.

I don’t, because I sense if I tell her that I’m falling for her, I’ll have her resignation in my hand within the hour.

She leans back when the server appears with two white plates and a large pizza.

I huff out a laugh when he places it on the table between us. He looks to me before his gaze settles on Maren. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

She only nods in response as her eyes widen at the sight in front of us. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a number fourteen,” the server answers. “A grilled hot dog pizza.”Chapter 28MarenThe look on Keats’s face says it all.