Graham

"Just a few more. We'll be done quickly, I promise," the photographer said. The team's annual calendar shoot was about to wrap up. Usually I didn't attend, but this year Amber, as our PR and social media manager, had talked me into being in the calendar.

"You did well for your first photo shoot," Jennifer said, joining me on the couch where I'd sat for the past ten minutes.

She was Amber's assistant. Since Amber was at my house with Lori, putting up decorations in the tent, Jennifer was in charge. I'd wanted to head out the second my portion was over, but the photographer insisted I stayed until the end, in case she needed to reshoot something.

"I can't believe Amber talked me into this."

"Polls don't lie. Our Facebook fans voted for you to be in the calendar," she said. Amber had told me that before. What she'd failed to tell me was that they'd voted for the shirtless Graham option. I'd only found out when the photographer said, “Shirt off please.”

"Some heads-up about the shirt would have been good."

"But then you would have said no."

Smartass. Like I didn’t have better things to do than take my shirt off for the camera. As the owner of the club, I was a jack-of-all-trades. I was informed about all the activities, the future directions, and I chaired most meetings. One of my main tasks was setting up the annual planning and overseeing the execution. I was also in charge of player transfers.

"We're done," the photographer announced to the room. We'd booked the entire studio for the day.

"Okay, everyone. Let's head back to the club for the strategy meeting," Coach Dennings announced.

"I'm sitting this one out," I told him. He frowned but nodded. It was the first time I was ditching a strategy meeting after a defeat, but I had a legitimate reason. Lori was at my house. Since we were having a rehearsal dinner, the schedule had moved forward by one day. They'd set up the tent structure yesterday, but the entire crew and Lori had already left by the time I came home. I didn't want to miss her today too.

As I headed out, my own assistant called me, asking to confirm my father's allowance before it went through.

“Yes, wire the money,” I confirmed as I climbed in my car, then ended the call. My relationship with him was rocky, but we had an agreement: as long as he didn't bother Nana, he received a nice sum every month. He'd never been interested in running the club, or working in general. My grandfather had run the club until he passed away. I was twenty-six at the time, working as the PR and Marketing Manager. My father, who'd finished off his trust fund by that point, took over the reins, despite not having worked a day in his life. Two and a half years later, the club was nearly bankrupt. He'd used it as his own personal ATM. When shit hit the fan, he resigned. I stepped in as president of the club. Then I found out he'd convinced Nana to sign off her restaurant as collateral to settle one of his debts. He'd defaulted on it.

The restaurant was all Nana had. After ditching my grandfather, she moved to Tampa and bought the restaurant with the divorce settlement. Losing it would have crushed her, so I paid off the debt. But I knew he'd turn to her again if he got into trouble. Sending him a monthly allowance for doing nothing was a safer bet. Nana had dealt with enough crap from my grandfather. She didn't need a son leeching off her too.

When I approached my entrance gate, I spotted Lori's car farther down the street. I found her inside the tent, perched on a stool, securing the end of a piece of linen in a corner. Everyone else seemed to have left already. Yesterday, the tent had been bare. Now, it was adorned with decorations of all kinds. The tables and chairs had also been arranged in wedding formation.

Lori didn't give any signs of hearing me approach, even though my steps were echoing across the floor. When I was close enough, I realized she was tapping her foot against the edge of the chair. She had earbuds plugged in. After stepping down from the chair, she clapped her hands twice, shimmying her hips, then slowly turned around. Her grin was so wide it lit up the space. Then she glimpsed me.

"Oh my God." She took out her earbuds, laying them on her shoulder. "I didn't hear you." 

"You're the last one here?"

"Yes. Amber and my assistant just left. How come you're home so early?"

Because I needed to see you.

"We had the calendar photo shoot today. Didn't feel like heading to the club once it was over."

"Oooh, that calendar is my guilty pleasure. And this year, you're in it too, right?"

I cocked a brow. "How do you know?"

"Amber. And Facebook. I voted for the shirtless option, obviously. Please tell me you didn't chicken out and went through with it. It had the most votes."

Finding out that Lori had a feisty side was a very pleasant surprise. I felt like keeping her on her toes a while longer. 

"You'll have to wait and see. So, what were you celebrating when I interrupted?" I asked, moving closer.

"Nothing in particular. I like listening to music when I'm alone. It's been a productive day. I finished putting up the decorations, and I'm taking my boy to a concert tonight. A fine gentleman got us tickets. Thanks again." 

"No problem." I was close enough to hear a faint sound coming from the earbuds, but I stepped closer still. I wanted to share this moment with her, so I put in one earbud. Johnny Cash was singing a classic. 

"That's a great song."

"I know," she said a little smugly. I suspected that if I weren't here, she'd still be clapping and moving her hips. I wanted in on her happy moment, to celebrate it with her. She was grinning again. Her joy was contagious. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt that way. When I put the earbud back on her shoulder, I couldn't help myself and touched her collarbone. Her eyes widened, but instead of stopping me, she sighed softly. That little sound was my undoing. I knew that touching her wouldn't be enough. I needed to taste her. So I dragged my knuckles down her cheek, framing her jaw with my thumb and forefinger. She licked her lips.

I claimed her mouth the next second. I took my time, lavishing her lips with attention before coaxing her tongue with mine, savoring her like the prize she was.

Her hair was pulled in a braid, but I buried my hands in it anyway. Her warm body pressed against mine, and feeling her full breasts was torture. Touching her hair wasn't enough anymore. I moved my hands down her body, stopping briefly to cup the sides of her breasts, flicking my thumbs over the peaks. Lori ran a hand through my hair, tugging until it was erring on the side of painful, but I liked it. I loved that I could unleash her passion just with a kiss. I continued my exploration, moving my hands downward. When I palmed her ass, she moaned against my mouth and pressed her thighs together. She was wet for me; I was sure of it. It took all my self-restraint not to spread her out before me and confirm it with my fingers, or my tongue. I nearly yanked her top and jeans away. I needed everything separating me from her skin out of the way, but we weren't there yet. So I held her and kissed her until we were both out of breath.

"You taste amazing," I said. The skin around her mouth was red, and her eyelids were slightly hooded. "Stay here this evening. I'll make you dinner. We can pick up your son and come back here."

"The concert is tonight."

"And if it weren't?" I pressed. I'd forgotten about it.

"Are you... are you asking me out?" she whispered.

"Fuck yes, I'm asking you out. Or in. I promise I'm great company either way." I rubbed the back of my hand along her jaw and she shuddered, pulling at her lower lip with her teeth.

"Pretty full of yourself, huh?" 

"I want us to get to know each other better." I'd avoided emotional connections since my divorce, and I didn't know if I was ready for one anyway, or if I'd ever be. But I felt a pull toward Lori, and I'd be a fool not to act on it, especially when the feeling was mutual. "Fuck, you don't want to know what's on my mind right now."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're not thinking about the wedding."

"Close. The night after. If I have it my way, it'll involve a lot less clothing and a lot more skin-on-skin contact."

"Maybe I shouldn't spend that night here."

"You have that little self-restraint? I'd be able to control myself, but if you think you won't—"

She stepped back, interrupting me. "I didn't say that."

"Don't worry. I won't mind if you take advantage of me."

"You've... I... I don't even know what to say to that."

The sound of a phone vibrating again filled the air. She lowered her gaze to her pocket.

"That was my phone. My reminder that I have to pick Milo up from school. I should leave. I want to feed him before the concert, and I'm done for the day here."

She moved away, picking her bag up from one of the tables and slinging it over her shoulder. "I'll see you at the wedding."

"You mean tomorrow at the rehearsal dinner," I corrected.

"Yes, of course. That's what I meant. I mixed things up." She nodded a little too enthusiastically.

"You never mix things up. I make you feel off-balance."

"No, you don't." 

"That's okay, sweetheart. You do the same to me."

I watched with satisfaction as her lips parted slightly and she gripped the sling of her bag tighter. Then she turned around and walked toward the front gate at a brisk pace.

Off-balance was one way to describe it. Currently, I felt like my world had shifted off its axis.

***

Lori

Pulse racing? Yep.

Legs wobbling? Like it was their job.

Butterflies in my stomach? Oh la la.

I couldn't wrap my mind around the kiss, mostly because I was still busy reliving it. As I picked Milo up from school, I fought to pull myself together... and failed. That kiss deserved to be relived anyway. When we arrived home, I prepared Milo's favorite snack, peanut butter sandwiches. Our excitement was palpable in the air. Milo was excited about the concert; I was still reeling from the kiss. Graham Frazier had brought a lot of joy to the Connor household.

"Milo, let's get you ready." I'd printed the tickets earlier in the day and flaunted them in front of him. His eyes lit up. He hopped over from his chair and climbed straight into my arms. I held him as best I could, hoping I wouldn't throw my back out in the process. He was too heavy for me now, but I'd never say that to him. He rarely wanted to be in my arms now anyway, mostly only when he was sick, so I was gobbling up these opportunities whenever I could.

We were out the door within minutes and hopped into an Uber. The area around the arena was closed to traffic though, so we walked on foot for about fifteen minutes after we climbed out of the car. We were surrounded by other concertgoers. Laughter filled the warm evening air, and Milo tried to wiggle his hand out of mine repeatedly, excited to inspect the booths selling memorabilia.

I hadn't looked closely at our tickets, but when security at the entrance checked them, he said, "Ma'am, you're sitting in the VIP section. There's a separate entrance."

Milo formed an adorable O with his mouth. He might be seven, but he understood VIP. A few short minutes later, we arrived in the VIP area. Milo squealed with joy.

"Mommy, these seats are so nice."

"They are, aren't they?" The seats in our section were covered with a velvet-like fabric, while the rest were plastic.

As I led us to our seats, I found myself hoping, foolishly, that Graham would be here too, that he'd actually had three tickets. But when we arrived at numbers 9 and 10, I took in our neighbors. An elderly lady and her nephew occupied numbers 11 and 12, and a young couple and their daughter, who seemed to be Milo’s age, sat in numbers 6, 7, and 8.

No Graham. Of course, this band was popular with kids, hence all the parents and grandparents. But I couldn't shake off the twinge of disappointment in my stomach. What was up with that? 

Milo and I sat down, but as the band appeared on stage and kicked off the performance with a fan favorite, we jumped to our feet, singing and dancing. We didn't sit for the rest of the concert. I was pretty sure we'd both lose our voices tonight. I snapped pictures of the band, and selfies of Milo and me throughout the evening.

When we returned home, Milo went out like a light the moment I tucked him in. As I slipped into my own bed, I thumbed through the pictures I'd taken at the concert. On a whim, I sent Graham a picture of Milo with the stage in the background.

Lori: The concert was amazing.

I hadn't expected Graham to answer tonight, but I received a text message a few minutes later.

Graham: Very cute boy. What’s his name? Does he like The Hurls too? I received tickets for it last month. You can have them.

Lori: His name is Milo and he LOVES them. That would be great. You made this little boy very happy tonight.

Graham: Did I make his mother happy too?

Lori: Definitely. 

Graham: I request photographic evidence.

I sent him a selfie of the two of us.

Graham: You have a beautiful smile, Lori.

I wasn't just smiling in the picture. I was sporting a grin that took up my entire face—the kind of photo dentists might display in their waiting room.

Lori: Thanks. And I will pay you for the next tickets.

Graham: Of course you will. In spades. But not with money.

A sizzle coursed through me, energizing me from the tip of my toes through my sternum.

Lori: That's right... dinner.

Graham: I've upped my price in the meantime.

Lori: Oh? And what does the new price entail?

Graham: I'll tell you in person.

Oh, boy. That sizzle turned into a full-on inferno. Graham had made my body come alive in ways no one had before him. Even though hours had passed, it sure hadn't dimmed the adrenaline spike from his kiss.