Page 77 of Make Me Yours

Bridger nods, pride written in every line of his face. “Yup, found out last week. It’s official, we’re having a girl.”

I glance at Lilah. Her smile is tender, but there’s something behind it.

Something quiet and aching.

Longing, maybe.

Or maybe not, and I’m totally misreading it.

But it settles in my chest anyway as I imagine her swollen with our child.

Fuck.

My hands linger a beat too long on her shoulders before I pull out her chair. When she sits, I drop down on the one beside her, and my thigh brushes lightly against hers under the table.

“I’m glad you were able to make it into town,” I say to my cousin. “Will you be here long enough to catch a game?”

Bridger shakes his head. “Wish I could, but we’ve got an investors’ meeting Friday morning. Maybe next time, whenyou’re playing Mav or Hayes. I wouldn’t mind watching you hand them a good beating.”

“Yeah, we don’t get together like we used to,” I say with a chuckle.

Holland sighs. “Everyone’s scattered now. Careers. Families. It’s harder to keep up.”

The waiter arrives, and I order for both of us out of habit.

Espresso martini for Lilah and a beer for me.

She doesn’t question it. Just smiles like she’s still not used to being taken care of. Like it surprises her that someone remembers what she likes.

Conversation flows easily as we trade memories and laugh over ridiculous moments from college, slipping into a rhythm that feels effortless.

Familiar.

My hand finds the back of Lilah’s chair, and when my fingers brush her shoulder, she doesn’t flinch or pull away.

That simple touch anchors me.

It always has.

And I’m pretty sure it does the same for her.

She laughs at one of Bridger’s stories, the sound carefree as her eyes crinkle with humor. That’s all it takes for something inside me to twist. I want to be the reason she smiles like that.

Every damn day.

More than that, I want to erase every memory of Devon fucking Peterson for making her feel like she wasn’t enough.

Because the truth?

She was always way too good for him.

And the fact that she questions her own worth because that asshole couldn’t keep his dick in his pants?

I’d like to find him and make sure he knows exactly what he lost.

For now, I’m content to just sit beside her, our shoulders brushing, my fingers tracing circles across her skin as I watchher come back to life. I hope like hell I’m the one she chooses when she’s ready to let someone in.

I’m not sure she even realizes the way she leans into my touch as the four of us continue talking.