Page 39 of At First Smile

He turns, placing his hands on my hips. “Why that date?”

“That’s the date of the charity bachelor auction. I’ve told you, I’m not a good sharer.” My mouth curls into a playful smile.

His hands tighten around me. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’d like to go to Toronto with you. Meet your mom and brothers, even Gillian, face-to-face and make sure nobody bids on?—”

My words are interrupted by Rowan’s mouth crashing against mine.

Hands cupping my ass, he pulls me against him.

My entire body melts into him. His firm and almost fevered kisses soothe my thudding heart at this brash decision.

The disappointment that coiled his body tight has unspooled the desire to want to do this.

To give him something he wants but did not push for.

He asked. I declined. He let it go. It’s still early but each time I pump the breaks, he complies. Even if he wants more, he doesn’t push.

However, that’s not the only reason I’m doing this. I want to go. I want to hold his hand when he faces Landon. I want to meet his family. I want to be obnoxious about bidding on him, so the entire room knows that he’s mine as much as I know I’m his.

“Rowan,” I pant, pulling back from our kiss. “I was serious about you taking me in the locker room.”

“Pen,” he groans, pressing his forehead to mine. “You may be the end of me.”

“But what a way to go.”

And it truly was. Up against the locker. Straddling Rowan on the bench. The lick of cool tile along my back as Rowan went down on me in the shower. He’ll never look at the locker room in the same way again.

As adult as last night was, today is the complete opposite.

The MVP Foundation’s event is being held at a sprawling park in Sherman Oaks.

To christen the fully accessible playground the foundation built, families of kids who have attended MVP’s various adaptive sports camps, wealthy donors, and several famous athlete clients of Greg’s agency are participating in a series of sports contests.

An official ribbon cutting for the new equipment and the announcement about the partnership with Walters will be held between the contests and a celebratory BBQ.

Rowan drove, but waited in his SUV, to give me a ten-minute head start so I could enter the event solo.

Nelson and the hospital chief of staff, who will be in attendance, plan to arrive closer to noon when the official announcement and ribbon cutting occur.

I opted to come early with Rowan to watch some of the games, including Rowan participating in a game of goalball, a rugby-esque game where all players are blindfolded.

“Ms. Meadows.” A woman with a warm voice strides down the sidewalk that loops through the park. “I’m Sasha Ortiz-Lawson.”

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Ortiz-Lawson. Please, call me Pen.” Smiling, I reach out my hand.

“As long as you call me Sasha.” She tightens her grip. “I’m so excited to meet you.”

I bet you are. My grin gets larger.

“My son Damon is a huge fan. He did a project on your social media for school.”

“Really?” My head tilts.

As exciting as the idea is of kids learning more about disability through Cane Austen and Me, it’s still a shock to hear things like this. It’s why I do it. Still, it’s weird.

“Yeah.” She waves at someone and then turns her gaze back at me.

“I’m glad you came early. I know you’re here for Walters, but I’d love to give you a VIP tour of the playground and, if you’re okay with it, maybe you could shoot a video or take some photos for our foundation’s social media?

Of course, you’re welcome to use it on Cane Austen and Me.

You’re a bit of a celebrity to a lot of the kids we work with. ”

“I’d love a sneak peek.” Shifting my feet, I adjust my oversized sunhat. “But I’m hardly a celebrity. From what I read on the event’s info, you have several gold medalists, a Superbowl champion, and some hockey players in attendance today.”

“Speaking of hockey players .” It’s almost salacious the way it drips from Sasha’s lips “Rowan.”

“Sasha,” he greets, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

“Rowan, you remember Pen Meadows.”

“Yup.” His big smile is visible from under the brim of his cap.

“Mr. Iverson,” I say, biting my lower lip.

“Ms. Meadows,” he murmurs, his fingers briefly brush against the small of my back but quickly return to his side.

“Oh my god! You two are together,” Sasha exclaims, motioning between us.

“Can’t get anything by you, Sash.” He chuckles, but still keeps his hands at his side.

We agreed. No touching. No kissing. No handholding. For the next six hours, we know each other but don’t appear to know each other in the many, many intimate ways we do.

With Rowan standing inches from me, his heat laps against my body, and I rethink this request. Stupid, Pen.

“Sorry to disappoint you. Your romantic subterfuge was for naught,” I offer with an apologetic grin.

“I’m not disappointed in the least. Just glad he got out of his own way.” She leans over, swatting Rowan’s bicep. “Just wish he’d told me, so I could have a statement ready to go in case any reporters?—”

“No statements,” he jumps in. “We’re not hiding this but we’re keeping our relationship quiet.”

“Just until the thirtieth.” My fingers brush against the top of Rowan’s hand, drawing his attention to me. Okay, clearly, he was right. I cannot keep my hands off him.

“You’re debuting as a couple at Landon’s fundraiser?

” She claps her hands together. “Brilliant! That will officially kill the story about the punch. Your meet-cute and relationship is PR gold. The public would much rather focus on the hockey bad boy redeemed by one of social media’s sweetest and, may I add, gorgeous influencers. ”

Flipping his cap backwards, so I can see his eyes, he locks his gaze on my face. “That’s not why I asked Pen to come with me.”

Eliminating the space between us, I take and squeeze his hand. “I know.” My pull to assure him stamps out any concern about the hospital’s chief of staff or my future boss.

“I know, Rowan. You’re not that calculating.

I’ve cleaned up enough of your missteps over the years to be very much aware of that.

” She waves a dismissive hand. “Still, this will cause a bit of a stir. I fielded several ‘Are you sure there’s nothing going on there?’ messages from reporters after the pics at LAX.

Photos don’t lie and the chemistry between you two is evident.

We should discuss a strategy. I know you hate this stuff, but a plan ensures we control the narrative. ”

“She’s right.” With one last stroke against his palm, I let go of his hand.

He tips his head back. “I know. Sash, can we discuss this on Monday?”

“Of course. Okay, taking the publicist hat off now.” Sasha loops her arm with mine. “How on earth did he manage to win you over? I need to hear everything.”

“Uncle Rowan!” A little human screams and barrels into Rowan’s arms.

“He’s not your uncle,” a man in a wheelchair grumbles, following behind.

“Pen, may I introduce you to Damon, Sasha and Greg’s son.” Rowan hoists the little boy into his arms and my ovaries explode.

At twenty-six, kids are a few years away for me. But seeing Damon in Rowan’s arms unleashes a flood of hormones that suddenly make me want to take Rowan into the nearest bathroom for him to put a baby in me immediately.

G ood God, Pen.

After officially being introduced to Damon and Greg, Sasha tugs me away for a private tour of the new play equipment.

It’s amazing. The sprawling playground offers various accessible features.

There are ramps allowing for easy access to slides, tunnels, and activity areas.

Tactical activities and nonvisual/auditory adaptations allow low-vision folks to easily traverse and engage.

After the sneak peek, I sit in the bleachers with Damon and Sasha cheering on Greg as he coaches his team of famous clients facing the L.A.

-based national goalball champions. Despite one Superbowl ring, two gold medals, and a scrappy hockey player who may have sworn one too many times, Greg’s team loses to the team of weekend warrior goalball players.

“We should head over to the playground for the ceremony.” Sasha stands.

I stand and smooth down my dress’s skirt. “Is there time for me to hit the restroom?”

“Yeah. Want an escort?” Sasha asks.

“I got it.” Smiling, I take the sidewalk through the park, leading to the brick building on the other side.

It’s far enough away to offer a quiet respite in the moments before the ceremony. The hum of activity gentles as I reach the bathroom. A warm breeze rustles the fat leaves of the maple trees encircling the building.

Freshened up, I step back outside. Instead of heading straight back, I take a little break and lean against a tree trunk.

I feel its rough bark through my thin cotton sundress.

The cacophony of little and big voices crescendo across the park.

Moments like this I can’t help but think of Aunt Bea.

She’d love this. Every single thing about today she’d delight in.

Me stepping out of my comfort zone allowing Sasha to take a few photos and videos of me playing with Damon on the playground for both MVP and my social media.

Me taking a step professionally for Walters.

Me stealing quick touches and brushed fingers with a man that I know she’d adore.

In the distance a voice booms, announcing that the ceremony will begin in ten minutes. Straightening, I step away from the tree and smooth out my dress.

“No need for that. As always you look beautiful, sweetheart.”

A shiver rips up my spine. Breath ragged, I lift my gaze toward a very familiar voice. “Alex.”

“Pen.”