Page 21 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SEAN

I hold open the door for Kayla, and a bell overhead jingles, sharp and cheery.

Inside, the smoothie shop is a burst of summer—light wood floors, pastel walls, barstools painted like watermelons, a blender whirring behind the counter.

A mom and her two kids are drinking smoothies across from a guy in joggers reading on his phone.

Kayla walks in like she’s discovered her happy place. I’d say she bounces to the counter, but her movements are far too graceful for bouncing. She doesn’t glide, either.

It’s almost like she dances.

As Kayla studies the menu, I let myself study her. It’s not weird. We’re married, after all. People will expect this.

Although, surprisingly, I don’t recognize anyone here. I don’t get smoothies often, but I usually run into someone—a teammate, a high school acquaintance, someone’s grandmother.

It’s the best of both worlds. I’ll get to talk to her without a constant flow of interruption, yet, we still have to keep up appearances, which will mean flirting. Touching.

Maybe a kiss.

Just remembering the feel of her lips fills me with heat. I put my hand on her lower back, resting it on the high waistband of her leggings beneath her crop top. I run my thumb back and forth over the waistband, almost like it’s some guide—“touch here”—to help me know how to stay appropriate.

Which is helpful.

Because if this were real, “appropriate” would lose all meaning.

I don’t know how I’d be able to keep my hands off her.

If this were real.

But it’s not, and we have rules, and this is well within those.

And I still have that kiss …

“What do you normally get?” she asks, her eyes on the letter board menu behind the register, its slats filled with names that think they’re clever but aren’t.

“Peanut Butter Banana.”

“Which Peanut Butter Banana?”

“The bottom one.”

She pauses, scanning. “Oh, you mean ‘Hunk O’ Chunky Monkey Love’?” she teases, brushing her fingers along the collar of my T-shirt like she’s idly straightening it.

“No, that’s what they mean. I mean peanut butter banana,” I say.

She laughs and scrunches her nose. “What should I get? What should I get?” she repeats, like she’s talking to herself. “Everything looks so good!”

“You seem like a Green Goals kind of girl. Pineapple, spinach, kale, lime, mint, coconut water, and vanilla protein powder.”

“Ooh, that does sound like me,” she says, and my chest warms thinking that I was right, that I was able to read her. She puts a hand on my cheek and scratches my beard before pausing.

I love how much she touches my beard.

Her smile shifts from playful to purposeful, and then she leans forward.

Is she coming in for a kiss?

My heart roars to life, hammering like it was caught sleeping on the job and needs to make up for lost beats.

I’d rather not risk a kiss getting cut short, considering there’s no one in front of us, but I’ll take what I can get.

Her nails slide to my jaw, and I catch a hint of shimmer to her lip gloss that I missed earlier.

I wonder what it tastes like.

I angle my face as she comes closer, but she smirks and feints, instead planting her lips on the tip of my nose.

“Tease,” I grumble when she backs up.

She laughs, low and delighted.

“Can I take y’all’s order?” the girl behind the counter says, smiling like she’s watched the whole show and is rooting for us.

“Yes! I’ll take a Green Goals and my husband will take … what was it, Captain?”

I pinch her side, and she flinches, but she doesn’t drop my gaze, staring at me with those wide, deceptively innocent eyes.

“Peanut butter banana.”

Kayla screws up her face, like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Aren’t there two peanut butter smoothies on the board? Or are you wanting a custom-made smoothie?”

“No, I want the one on the board that has peanut butter. And bananas.”

The girl behind the counter nods and is about to push a button when Kayla stops her. “Sorry, babe, what one are you talking about? I don’t think I see it up there.”

I point, but she shakes her head, grinning like she’s backed me into a corner. So I wrap my arms around her back, slide my hand down her arm, thread her fingers in mine, and use our pointer fingers to line up exactly with the smoothie I’m ordering.

I put my mouth right up to her ear, feeling her shiver in a way that makes my chest clench with satisfaction, and with my lips right on her skin, I say, “That one. Right there.”

I think her knees might buckle.

“Oh,” she whispers, like she’s too weak to voice anything more. “That one.”

The cashier has already rung us up, and I hand her my card before Kayla can. She looks back at me.

“Is that how it’s gonna go?” she asks, a hint of challenge in her raised brow.

“Unless you develop faster reflexes, yeah, that’s how it’s gonna go.”

“Pfft. I’m practically a ninja. My reflexes are legendary. Everyone knows it.”

“Everyone except the cashier,” I say quietly. Then I take my card back and smile at the girl behind the register, who’s watching us like she wonders when her prince will come.

A moment later, we’re heading to a small table tucked in the back corner.

There’s a potted plant on the table with a tiny chalkboard that says “Love Grows Here.”

She’s about to grab her chair, but I get there first, pulling it out for her.

“Wow, you’re really committed to the bit,” she mutters.

I squeeze her shoulders and put my lips right next to her ear. “Wait until I build you a dresser.”

She grabs the mini chalkboard from the table and uses it to fan herself. “Easy, Captain. You save that sexy talk for home.”

I laugh and sit across the small, round table from Kayla. Our knees brush as we settle into a crisscrossed puzzle of limbs beneath the table. When we each lean forward, I grab her hand, rubbing circles in her soft palm like we’ve done this a million times. Like it’s old hat.

As if anything about touching Kayla could be “old.”

Familiar, yes.

Habit-forming, absolutely.

Old?

Never.

“Green Goals and Hunk O’ Chunky Monkey Love for Sean?” someone behind the counter says.

Kayla titters with laughter. “That’s my man’s,” she says loudly, looking around at the other patrons. “That’s my husband’s order. Sean O’Shannan. His favorite smoothie is the Hunk O’ Chunky Monkey Love. He gets itall the time. It’s?—”

I try to cover her mouth with my hand, laughing and shaking my head. She dodges, grabbing my hand and tugging it down. “Sorry, Captain. You order the silliest thing on the menu, and I’m gonna call you on it. It’s Wife 101.”

I grab the smoothies and return to the table and my spot. Our knees are touching immediately.

Kayla takes a long sip, and then she sighs. “Mmm.”

“Good?”

“Amazing. Want to try?”

She angles it toward me, and I wrap my lips around her straw and take a drink, aware my mouth is where hers was only a moment ago. And judging by how her eyes are focused on my mouth, so is she.

Don’t let anyone tell you sharing a straw’s not hot.

“Not bad,” I tell her.

“No, it’s heavenly.”

“I prefer heaven without the kale.”

She gasps and touches her hand to her chest. “Blasphemy.”

“Don’t say that at the next potluck. Eunice thinks it’s blasphemous to joke about blasphemy.”

“Duly noted. I need all the help I can get.” She licks smoothie from her straw and curls her fingers around mine.

And wouldn’t you know it, but in walk Eunice, Loretta, and some church ladies I recognize from Sugar Maple.

The ladies from Sugar Maple walk up to the counter, but Eunice and Loretta make a bee-line for our table.

Almost as if they were tipped off.

Their eyes are all over us—inspecting our posture, examining our faces, scrutinizing our wedding rings, like they half-suspect they came from a Cracker Jack box.

When they’re satisfied that we look sufficiently in love, Loretta’s eyes flick down to the white cropped top that hits right where Kayla’s high-waisted leggings end.

Her hair’s pulled into a high ponytail that sways like it has opinions, and her lips are a deliciously glossed pink that belongs in a fruit salad.

Loretta crosses her arms, gaze honing in on our joined hands and wedding rings.

“Heard you two made quite the scene at City Hall today,” Loretta says. “But that can’t be right, because a billionaire wouldn’t go to a meeting in City Hall wearing leggings .”

“No, she wouldn’t,” I say. “Because we didn’t go to the meeting. We were dropping off paperwork.”

“What kind of paperwork?”

“Now Miss Loretta, you know well and good what kind of paperwork.”

“Did you two really go and get married?”

“We did,” I say.

“Without telling anyone?” Eunice asks.

“Kayla was pretty clear about where we stood last week. I thought it was time to make it clearer.”

“What my husband means to say,” Kayla adds with a smile, “is that we had plans for something bigger, but we couldn’t wait a minute longer.”

I hold back a snort and a smile.

A snort because that “minute” line ain’t off by much.

A smile because I love the way she says “my husband,” all possessive and proud.

I shift my hand, and Kayla and I thread our fingers together.

“It’s your honeymoon, and y’all came to get smoothies?” Eunice asks.

“No, we’re going to Nashville tomorrow for our honeymoon,” I say. “Quick weekend getaway.”

“Don’t the Mudflaps have an away series in Nashville starting tomorrow?” Loretta asks, hand fully on hip now. “Sounds to me like Miss Carville is dragging you on a work trip with her.”

“Now, Miss Loretta,” I say. “You kicked a bad husband to the curb before finding the right one. Shouldn’t you appreciate a man who’s happy to support a strong woman?”

“The real question is if Miss Carville will support you, ” Loretta mutters.

Kayla and I both bristle.

I should say something, but her words are like a punch to the jugular, robbing me of the ability to speak or even swallow.