Page 85 of The Off Limits Captain
“It is one of her love languages.”
I laugh despite myself and put my hand in his.
His thumb shifts once over my knuckles. Private in public. A small claim he does not squeeze shut.
Inside, dinner behaves for twenty minutes.
Mostly.
Ryan orders like a man trying to prove he can be casual by taking food extremely seriously. I ask about road games, and he gives me the parts of the truth that do not belong to anyone else. Bad hotel pillows. Colt stealing every decent protein bar on the bus. Finn falling asleep with headphones on and snoring through the same song for two hours. Lex refusing to eat anything green on game day because he believes it offends the crease.
“The crease has dietary opinions?” I ask.
“Apparently.”
“This is important reporting.”
“Do not print that.”
“You cannot censor journalism.”
“I can ask politely.”
“That was not polite. That was captain voice.”
His eyes warm. “You like captain voice.”
I reach for my water. “I tolerate it for professional reasons.”
“Your ears turn pink for professional reasons?”
“Medical condition.”
He smiles into his glass.
There. The problem is not the public room, or the cameras someone might lift, or the headline that would write itself if the wrong person cared enough.
The problem is how easily he can become a man instead of a subject. How quickly my body forgets the difference when he looks at me like that.
After dinner, we walk through the Pearl because neither of us says the night is over and both of us are stubborn enough to pretend the silence is logistics.
His hand settles at my lower back when we cross through a crowd near the courtyard.
I feel it everywhere.
“You do that on purpose,” I say.
“What?”
“The hand.”
“So I do not lose you.”
“I am five feet from you.”
“Still.”
The word should be nothing. From him, it sounds like strategy and confession have made a terrible bargain.
