Page 69 of Made Better Together

“Wait, what’s the story?” Avery asks.

I reply so my sister doesn’t. “No story. Del Larsson’s family is going to be in the box, and I brought Eden into the firm as a new client, so I’ll probably entertain her.” I give Grace a pointed look to not say more.

Before Avery can poke around further, a little girl squeals, “Emma! It’s me!”

I turn, and there’s Eden with her stepmom and stepsister, the owner of the voice in question. She races down the steps to where Emma is sitting, and they jump up and down.

“I never ever thought I would see you again.”

“Me either.”

“Sheesh,” Eden says to Tina, in an amused tone. “That’s Johnson’s niece. You’d think they were long-lost friends instead of only playing together once.”

“Welcome to girlhood.” Tina laughs before looking up at me. “Hi, Connor.”

I take two steps closer to them. “Hi, good to see you again.”

“Let me go introduce myself to Emma’s mom,” Tina says to excuse herself.

Still standing, Eden puts her hand on the back of the seat next to her. “This is a nice setup.”

With the others scattered, I can finally drink her in. She looks so herself, all sporty Florida ease. Her hair is in a ponytail—I try not to think about the images from my shower—with a few soft tendrils loose around her face. She’s wearing a well-worn Waves T-shirt, likely purchased during her dad’s playing days, and white shorts.

Talk, Connor. “Johnson’s had this box for years. There’s a great junk food selection, if you’re hungry?”

She giggles. “I shouldn’t indulge in season, but show me what you got.”

I bring her to the back part of the suite where there are high tables and bar stools, and a long countertop loaded with heated silver trays.

“It’s your usual suspects—hot dogs, fries, chicken tenders. And the chocolate chip cookies are addictive. You can’t have just one.”

She moans. “Are they warm?”

Unable to resist, I lean in and whisper, “So warm.”

“Dang it, I’m trying one.”

She grabs a cookie before claiming a table, and I join her after snagging us two waters.

“Okay, I’m going in,” she says, picking up the cookie.

She takes a bite, the cookie so soft it breaks apart easily as she holds it. Her eyes roll back like she’s in heaven, as she savors the taste.

The only problem? The look on her face is what I imagined on that Fourth of July night, when she came on my fingers. The memory makes my dick twitch.

Calm the fuck down. Time and place.

She interrupts my visions of that night. “What do they put in these things?”

“So good, right? Have another one.”

She shrugs. “I think I must.”

“I’ll get it for you. And one for myself.”

When I come back, she’s finishing the first cookie. As pure pleasure filters across her face, I feel the tug of a thought—I want to give her more of that.

“Okay, this second one is my limit,” she declares. “This is not a nutritionally sound decision.”