Page 106 of Cross Checked
“It’s really fun,” she promised quietly.
“I’m counting on ribs, and if street hockey is finally happening today, I expect you to admit I’m about to become your family’s favorite.”
She burst out laughing immediately.
“I’m serious,” I said. “I don’t think I’d ever actually been to a backyard barbecue before you started dragging me into Bennett Sundays. I’m hooked now.”
Her jaw physically dropped. “No way.”
“I swear.”
“You’re joking.”
“I would never joke about food.”
She smacked my arm lightly. “Cade, be serious.”
“I am serious.”
“Oh my gosh.” She stared at me like I’d admitted I grew up on the moon. “Barbecues are literally my childhood.”
I smiled watching her talk with her hands, sunlight catching against the rings on her fingers while excitement warmed her whole face.
“Fourth of July parties. Birthday parties. Summer block parties.” She laughed softly. “There’s always somebody grilling too much meat and somebody’s uncle arguing about sports and little kids running through sprinklers.”
The fondness in her voice hit me directly in the chest again.
“I love that for you,” I admitted quietly.
Her gaze slid toward me, and the second our eyes met, something shifted. Not dramatically. Not enough to break the moment. Just enough to remind us both that this was different now. The air in the car had new history in it. Her hand in mine was no longer some almost-innocent thing. Her mouth had been under mine. My hands had been on her bare thighs. I had tasted her and listened to the way she said my name when all that careful control finally snapped.
And she knew I was thinking about it. I saw the moment she realized. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked out the windshield too fast.
I smiled.
“You’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“It’s sunny.”
“Inside the car?”
“UV rays are aggressive.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“You’re terrible at not being smug.”
“I’m not smug.”
She gave me a look.
I let my grin widen. “Fine. Maybe a little.”
“A little?”
