Page 68 of Dangle

That got my attention, and my eyes flew to his.

“There you are.” He leaned forward, his long arm stretching across the table to cup my jaw, his thumb tracing over my cheekbone. “Do you know how beautiful you are? Not just sexy. Utterly, fucking breathtakingly beautiful.”

Heat bloomed across my face and in my chest. I dipped my chin—or I tried to. His hand held my face in place, but it didn’t stop my eyes from dropping.

“Don’t hide from me. If this is going to work, you cannot hide from me.”

“Why do you want to help me? Surely you don’t have issues finding people to fuck?”

Slone answered, “I don’t, but if you want anything more than that, you’ve got to look at me.”

I forced my eyes to meet his. They were so kind and…soft.

“Good boy. To answer your question, something about you calls to me. It pulls at me like a magnetic force. It has been since the moment I saw you on the ice doing that fancy jump you did. You invaded my thoughts.”

I smiled softly. “So, I’m the boss, huh?”

His hand dropped to the table as he laughed. I loved the way he laughed. His eyes crinkled at the corners. His mouth stretched wide. The sound lifted my spirits and set off a chain reaction, whether it was the loud, raucous explosion like this one or the softer ones or the ones that grew. Add it to the list of things I wanted from this man. I wanted to know all the ways he laughed. And I wanted to be the one who made him happy enough to do so.

EIGHTEEN

SLONE

Once the laughter died from my lips, I said, “Don’t let it go to your head, kid.”

He smirked, then began eating in earnest. I followed suit, and while the food disappeared from the platters between us, the rules appeared on the page next to him. The boy ate with his non-dominant hand so he could capture what we discussed.

Hindering the wildness in the kid did not appeal to me in the least. That wildness drew me like a moth to a flame, but there was a time and place. That’s what he needed to learn. He also needed to learn that he wasn’t alone in the world. That he had someone standing behind him, beside him, or in front of him whenever needed.

Once we had drafted the rules for our non-sexual interactions, I said, “Read them out loud.”

He took a deep breath. “Slone will text Trey good morning since he wakes up at the crack of dawn. Trey will reply when he finally crawls out of bed in the morning.”

I rolled my eyes at how he wrote the simple rule I had suggested. That wasn’t at all how I worded it. “Go on.”

“Check-in texts and photos throughout the day are welcomed and encouraged. Slone worries.”

“Brat.”

He chuckled. “And Trey wouldn’t mind getting photos of the sexy beast he’s exclusively fucking.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“Slone or the team’s social media gurus must approve all social media posts before going live.”

That one he suggested. I assumed it had something to do with what made him spiral in Nashville, but he hadn’t shared the reasoning behind it. Yet. I was hopeful.

“Drinking is limited to two beers or one mixed drink in a two-hour period unless Slone is present and Trey doesn’t have access to his phone. NO POACHING RANDOM DRINKS. EVER!”

That one was mine. I had nightmares for the last two months thinking about him getting drugged in a club.

“Slone is Trey’s first call no matter what: good news or bad, happy or panicked. But especially when Trey spirals. If,” he paused, crossed out if and wrote when in its place, then continued, “when Trey spirals, Trey will find a quiet place and call Slone. If Slone doesn’t answer immediately, Trey will text Slone 911.”

“And Trey isn’t to talk negatively about himself. EVER.”

Looking across the table, I see that the last word is in all caps, underlined, and written over and over so it looked bold and scratchy.

“And punishments?” I asked.