by Ellis, Aven
I stare up into his eyes, the ones that are gazing back at me with concern. Brooks has shifted the banter to a serious question, one that seems to be weighing on his open heart.
This is what it’s like to be with a real man. One who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable. To share what is in his heart. To seek the truth, even if it could lead to hurt on his end.
And my heart just tumbled further toward love in this very moment.
I place my hand over his heart, feeling it beat through the fabric of his soft gray T-shirt, and try to speak over the lump that has suddenly formed in my throat.
“I don’t seek that from you,” I say, speaking from my heart.
“Are you sure?” he asks softly, reaching up and brushing my hair away from my face. “I need for you to be honest, Payton. Please be honest. I don’t want to ever disappoint you.”
As I feel his fingertips graze against my skin, and see the depth of concern in his eyes, emotions overwhelm me. Brooks is special. He’s unlike any man I’ve ever met. He has depth, heart and passion.
He’s what I’ve been waiting for, and I never even knew it.
“I have no concerns about that,” I say, my voice firm. “I want you, Brooks. Exactly the way you are.”
His eyes hold steady on mine. I see trust in them. He’s putting his heart in my hands now.
And I vow that I’m never going to let it go.
Brooks wraps his hand over mine, pressing it over his heart. “Okay.”
“You make me so happy,” I say, letting the unguarded truth escape my lips.
A beautiful smile lights up his face. “Will you still be happy if I know nothing about baseball?”
Joy fills my heart. “We’ll see how you do tonight. This part of the evening is still negotiable, you know. I mean, my feelings could change on how well you do with the Mariners portion of our evening.”
“Do I get points for recognizing that this sculpture is a baseball mitt?” he asks.
I laugh. “Um, no. I think Jacob—who is two—could tell me this is a baseball mitt.”
“Damn.”
We both laugh.
“But we should take our picture with it,” Brooks says. “To go with our Rachel the Piggy Bank pictures.”
Feels, feels, feels.
We wait for some fans to finish taking their pictures with The MITT, then it’s our turn.
“You go first,” Brooks says, taking out his cell phone.
I smile and go around to the back of the sculpture, and stick my head through the hole in the center.
Brooks laughs while he takes the picture. “Brilliant,” he declares.
“Okay, your turn!” I say happily, and we switch places. I take his picture.
“Would you all like a picture together?” a woman asks me.
“Oh, yes, that would be amazing,” I say happily. I hand her my phone and show her the camera button, then I go around and bend down next to Brooks, so both our faces are showing in the hole.
“Ready?” The woman asks. “On Mariners. One, two, three, Mariners!”
We both smile and she snaps it.
“Would you do another one please?” Brooks asks.
“Sure,” she says, smiling.
Brooks turns to me. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“What?” I giggle, facing him.
“I am. Get ready.”
“One, two, three, Mariners!” the woman calls out.
And on Mariners, Brooks presses his lips against mine in The MITT.
“Oh, lovely!” the woman says.
“Yes, lovely,” Brooks says, staring at me.
We get up, thank the woman, and check out our pictures on my phone.
And the one of us kissing has to be my new favorite picture of all time.
“Let’s go in,” I say happily, taking his hand in mine and pulling him toward the Left Field Entrance. I unzip my cross body purse and fish out the printout for the tickets I purchased. I hand them to the usher, who scans them for us.
“Now, I have to warn you, these seats are high up. The players might look like ants.”
“I’m good with ants. I’m a vet, remember?”
I laugh. I so love his sense of humor.
“Now, the ballpark experience is all about the food,” I say. “At least that is my theory.”
“So I’m going to be judged more on food than on baseball knowledge? Are you making up these rules as you go along, Sunshine?”
I know I’m beaming now.
“Food is paramount to our date tonight. Now, Brooks, your American side should know the key baseball foods. Can you tell me them?”
We’re walking through the concourse now, and I’m leading him toward The ’Pen, which is my favorite area of Safeco Field. Not only can you get right up on the bullpen to watch pitchers and catchers, but there’s a whole food court of amazing offerings.
“Hot dogs,” Brooks says. “Beer. And peanuts.”
“Very good,” I say happily. “You are in touch with your American side!”
He laughs. “I am. And I’ll eat peanuts but not hot dogs,” Brooks says.
“Agreed. Well, I won’t eat peanuts because I have my own favorite ballpark foods to eat.”
“Such as?”
“First, we need to get dinner,” I say. “And that’s why we are going to The ’Pen first. You can get anything from pizza to crepes to street tacos here.”
“Crepes? At a baseball game?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m calling you out on that. You’re talking about getting in touch with my American half and now you are suggesting crepes?”
I can’t help but laugh. “That is a completely valid point.”
We reach The 'Pen and stop to take in all of our options. I tell Brooks he can eat whatever he wants, no points deducted.
“What do you get here?” Brooks asks.
“I love cheeseburgers,” I say. “So I go to Hamburg + Frites and get a burger. And I know the garlic fries are legendary at this ballpark, but I prefer the frites they serve here with the garlic dipping sauce. Washed down with a beer, of course.”
“Sold,” Brooks says.
We get in line and order cheeseburgers and frites, and icy cold beers. Then we head up to our seats in the upper deck on the left-field side.
As soon as we step out of the tunnel and into the stadium, joy fills me. The sight is magnificent—the lush grass of the playing field, the skyscrapers of Seattle in the backdrop.
“This is brilliant,” Brooks declares, following me to our seats.
“I know,” I say, sinking down into mine as Brooks drops down next to me. “Here’s what I love about baseball. You eat and drink and sit outside and simply enjoy it.”
Brooks places his beer in his cup holder and eyes me suspiciously. “You didn’t mention the game.”
“What?” I say, taking a bite of my cheeseburger. Mmmm. I seriously love a good cheeseburger.
“You love the outdoors and the food. What about the game?”
I swallow and reach for a napkin, rubbing on my chin because I know the bun has caused a lipstick smudge there.
“The game is fun, too. Not that I know anything about it,” I confess with a wicked grin.
“What?”
“I come to the ballpark about once or twice a year with friends,” I admit. “And I’m here more for the outside time and food.”
“Bloody hell,” Brooks laughs. “If you know more about rounders than baseball I’m going to give you so much crap.”
“What on earth is rounders?” I ask, confused.
“So once again your Anglophile side has come up empty,” he teases.
“Oh, you stop it,” I say, not meaning it at all. “Now tell me what rounders is.”
“What I had to play in the UK in school,” he explains, dipping a frite into the garlic sauce. “Similar to baseball in a way. We have bases but they are not bases but sticks. You pitch underhand. Hitting, fielding, innings. But when you score
, you score a rounder. There are other rules, of course, but that’s the basics of it.”
“Wow, I’ve never heard of it before. We had to play softball in school,” I say. Then I pause. “I’m horrible at it. I used to stand way, way in the back of the field and pray a ball never came toward me.”
Brooks laughs as he reaches for his beer. “Not an athlete?”
“Oh, no,” I say, laughing.
“Your leader Kate is an athlete,” Brooks says. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken up rowing or field hockey.”
“I apply Kate fashion and elegance to my life,” I say, picking up a frite and pointing it at him. “Not her sports.”
“Oh, I stand corrected,” Brooks says, grinning. “But I should be relieved, otherwise you’d be off trying to find your prince instead of going to a baseball game with me.”
I sit silent as Brooks takes the frite from my fingers and pops it into his mouth, then winks at me.
I have found my prince, I think, my heart pounding. And you’re everything I dreamed you could be.
We settle in to watch the game, talking and laughing the whole time. We cheer when the Mariners score, we groan when the Texas Rangers come back and put one on the board. And despite the fact that we ate burgers and frites, Brooks gets a bag of peanuts and I get pink cotton candy to enjoy, too.
“I don’t know how you can eat that candy floss,” Brooks says, cracking open a peanut shell and letting it fall to the concrete.
“Cotton candy,” I correct, pulling off a strand of sugary goodness and popping it into my mouth.
“What?”
“You’re in America, taking in the great American game, and you’re going to call it the American name. Cotton candy,” I insist.
“Well, floss or candy, it’s sickening.”
“Nooooooooo, Brooks, it’s delicious!”
“Gross,” he says, popping a peanut into his mouth.
“Try some. I bet cotton candy tastes better in this setting.”
Brooks laughs loudly. “I’m sorry, but you could serve me candy floss in a castle on a silver platter and it would still be disgusting.”
“You’re so wrong,” I say, taking another bite.
“I’m not.”
Suddenly I cup my hand on the back of his neck and draw him to me. I kiss him on the lips, and I taste the combination of beer and salt on them. Utterly divine.
“Did it taste sweeter now?” I flirt.
Brooks’ eyes flash sexily. “I take it back. Cotton candy does taste better here. On you.”
My pulse quickens. I glance at the huge video scoreboard. The Mariners have a 4-2 lead over the Rangers. The sun is starting to set, and I know exactly what I want to do.
“Do you want to take a walk?” I ask. “I’d like to show you my favorite spot here at Safeco.”
“Let’s go.”
We get up and toss the rest of our treats. Brooks takes my hand in his, and I take him to the upper deck concourse on the left-field line.
“This,” I say, “is my favorite spot here.”
Because on this concourse, we’re greeted by the most gorgeous view of downtown Seattle. The skyscrapers surround us. The sun is sinking over Puget Sound, and the view is breathtaking.
“Wow, this is brilliant,” Brooks says. We stop next to the brick wall, gazing out over the city around us and the shipping docks below.
“I know,” I say, nodding. “I could stand here for hours and take in this view.”
I let my eyes cast over the city, with the sun slowly starting to dip, and the lights starting to twinkle from the buildings as the sky begins to darken.
“I think I could, too,” Brooks says softly.
I turn to look at him, and his eyes are fixed right on me.
“Payton, thank you for this night,” Brooks says. “I know I’ve said I don’t believe in perfect, but this date has been, in every way.”
He slides his hand up to my face, caressing it gently as the breeze blows across us.
“What made it perfect?” I ask, my heart pounding now.
“You,” Brooks says, dropping his mouth on mine.
And then he kisses me, easing my mouth open with a gentle kiss. I melt into him, my lips moving softly against his as the city blurs around us.
He breaks the kiss and pulls me against his broad chest, and as his arms wrap around me, nothing feels as right as this does.
“You are my sunshine, Payton,” Brooks murmurs into my hair, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. “I never realized how the sun was missing in my life until you entered it.”
I hold very still as his words wash over me. His words, which I know didn’t come easy for him to say. But now he’s saying I’m the one who has changed his life. In the short time I’ve been in it, I’ve brought him happiness and light. Warmth.
Love.
My heart is racing furiously against my ribs as that word rolls over and over in my head.
I knew I was falling in love with this man before we came here today. I don’t care that it’s only been a little more than a week. I know now, as I listen to his heartbeat, that there’s no perfect time or way to fall in love.
I always wondered if I’d be smart enough to know when it was happening to me. I’ve seen my friends and sister in love, and it was different with each of them. Would I ever know what falling in love felt like? Would it be obvious? Would I mistake a crush for love when it wasn’t?
As I close my eyes and inhale the scent of Brooks’ skin, I know.
I know I love this man.
This man, who is willing to be silly and goofy with me. To do simple things. Who is happy to cook with me or watch Netflix, as long as I’m there. He’s intelligent. Quick. Thoughtful. Vulnerable. Affectionate. Patient. Passionate. Sexy. Caring.
I love Brooks and all these things that make him the man he is.
I lift my head to look at him, this gorgeous man who is holding my heart in his hands. His brandy-colored eyes stare back at me with nothing but softness in them.
I get emotional when I think of how I’m his sunshine.
And he’s mine.
I long to tell him but I know I can’t. Not yet. Not when he’s still getting to the same place I just got to. But his heart is open to me and to finding this with me; I believe that with every fiber of my being.
My heart quickens. I know what I want tonight. I want to make love to Brooks, to give him all of me, every piece of me in a way I’ve never given it to any man before.
“Brooks,” I whisper, touching his face with my hand, “you’re everything to me. I know it’s insane, but you are.”
“That doesn’t scare me,” he whispers back, his eyes searching mine.
“Me neither,” I admit softly. “And I know what I want now.”
Brooks’ eyes go intense as a look of recognition passes over his handsome face.
I draw his head lower to mine, and he bends down so our foreheads are touching and nobody can hear what I’m going to murmur to him.
“I want to make love to you,” I whisper to him, my hands sliding through his silky, dark-brown locks. “Tonight.”
CHAPTER 22
Today’s plan to improve myself item, result: Okay so while I planned the whole Mariners date, I didn’t plan on making love to Brooks tonight.
But ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I’m so glad we did!!! xoxoxo
***
Brooks immediately stands back up, his eyes searching mine as if to make sure he heard me correctly.
“What?”
I place my hands on his face, feeling his scruff rub deliciously against my palms, and I smile up at him.
“I want us to be together,” I say softly, moving my hands to the back of his neck. “In every way.”
Brooks is silent for a moment, absorbing my words. I bite my lip as the seconds go by with no response, just a look of surprise etched on his gorgeous face. Did I read him wrong? Normally guys jump at the chance for sex, but Brooks is different in e
very way I’ve ever known. Oh, no. What if he wants to wait? Oh, shit, this is embarrass—
“You mean the full English?” Brooks finally asks, furrowing his brow.
My face grows hot. How do I continually put myself in these situations? How?
“Uh, yes, I would like to. Would you like to?” I blurt out.
Brooks rubs his hand across the back of his neck. Oh, no. No, that’s his uncomfortable move, what the hell have I done? One of my modern guides to dating in the city would say this was the perfect move for me to make, why is it backfiring on me?
“Would I like to?” Brooks asks slowly, repeating the question.
Gah!
“Um, forget it,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “You’re obviously having to think about it, which is not exactly the response I was hoping for, so this is all wrong and we should go back and watch the baseball game and forget I ever brought this up.”
My heart is pounding out of my chest in embarrassment. I turn to go back down the concourse, but Brooks quickly grabs my arm and draws me into his huge chest, sliding his other arm around my back.
“No, I don’t have to think about it,” he says firmly, “other than to make sure this is what you want. Because not only would I like to serve you the full English, but I want to serve it to you many times over this evening.”
Ohhhhhhhhhhh!
My breathing grows stronger. My heart is furiously pounding.
“I want you,” I blurt out. “Only you.”
His eyes flicker with desire. “No doubts?”
“None.”
“Then bloody hell, what are we doing here?” Brooks asks. “Let’s go home.”
He takes my hand and leads me through the stadium. Excitement is tearing through me at a rate I’ve never experienced before. I want this moment with Brooks like I’ve never wanted anything in my life. All of my senses are heightened. I’m aware of his hand entwined with mine, the scent of his skin, the way his lips taste of beer and salt, the softness of his T-shirt in contrast to the hard muscle underneath.
We exit the stadium and head over to the parking garage. As soon as we’re in the car, the sexual tension practically hangs in the air between our seats.
