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TWENTY-THREE

LENNON

I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time over the last twenty-four hours replaying every single moment of… whatever the hell happened between Saint and me during our ice time.

I’ve tried to stop thinking of it, about him . I should be pretending that it never even happened at all, but I haven’t been able to stop.

For a girl who’s never even had an orgasm, not from lack of trying, I felt like I was going to burst just from the way his breath caressed my ear and his fingers dug into the back of my thigh as he held me against him and whispered the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard.

About me.

It was the hottest moment of my life, despite the overshadowing fact that my unfortunate attraction to him is ridiculous. And that he’s truly the last guy on the planet I should willingly choose to be attracted to.

Really, it’s the only time I can ever recall wanting someone so fiercely that I ached. Throbbed between my thighs until I thought I was going to spontaneously combust.

I never once felt that way with Chandler, nothing even close. Yet another reason that breaking up with him and never looking back was the right choice. Not that I needed another. Him cheating on me was more than enough.

And now, after spending the last day obsessively thinking about Saint, I’m about to see him for the first time since.

In front of my parents.

Surrounded by volunteers at the pediatric hospital, where we’re going to spend the day.

I thought the next event I would need him at was the upcoming gala, but with everything going on, apparently, I forgot to write down today’s volunteer work in my planner.

Completely unlike me.

I’m generally type A, compulsively organized in every aspect of my life, but lately… my mind has been occupied, hence the last-minute text I fired off to him this morning asking—no, begging—for him to come with me today.

I was shocked when he agreed and said he’d meet me here.

My pulse skitters when I see him sauntering up the sidewalk, and I force myself to take a shaky breath and stop being ridiculous. This is the same guy who has slept his way through every girls’ sports roster on campus. The asshole who’s crass and rude and selfish.

You don’t have to like him to want a repeat of yesterday , the voice in my head says, and I groan inwardly.

This is going to be great. Perfectly fine.

“Golden Girl,” he murmurs, coming to a stop in front of me. His full lips quirk when he eyes my braided pigtails, reaching up to twirl the end of my hair around his finger. “ Cute .”

I roll my eyes at the patronizing tone of his voice. “The kids like them.”

A beat passes, the silence stretching between us and making my stomach flip.

I tear my gaze away, the unspoken elephant in the room making us both acutely aware of the awkward tension hanging in the air.

I feel him step closer as my eyes stay on the smooth concrete beneath my feet until his lips brush against the shell of my ear, and I fight the shiver threatening to strike. “Don’t worry, Golden Girl. I’m not going to tell anyone how wet you got with my dirty, filthy hands all over you.”

My eyes dart to his in panic. “How would you even…”

The words trail off because, like a fool, I stepped right into that.

Shit.

His shit-eating smirk widens, and he arches a brow.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, just as he always does. And of course, he has me exactly where he wants me.

Pushing my hands in the back pockets of my jeans, I step back, desperate to create space between us as a turmoil of unwanted feelings storms inside of me.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I repeat the mantra over and over because I obviously need the reminder.

I clear my throat. “Thanks for coming on short notice. Uh… My parents are already inside. It shouldn’t be but a couple of hours, and while generally I would encourage your uncouth ways, there are children here, so let’s keep it PG.”

The space between his brow cinches tight, and he scoffs. “Jesus, Lennon. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, well, I need you to be a good boy today.”

When he grins, I shake my head. “See?”

“Don’t act like an idiot in front of the kids. Act like a dick in front of your parents. Got it,” he mutters with a mock salute. “Now, are you ready? I have something to do tonight.”

Like… another girl?

God, why am I even thinking this right now? It’s not even remotely my business what or who he spends his time doing.

“Let’s go.” I brush past him toward the hospital, trying to refocus before the performance that it feels like neither of us is ready for.

Saint is quiet as we walk through the hallway of the hospital, his hands shoved into the pockets of the dark jeans he’s wearing, gaze settled in front of him.

He doesn’t say anything until we get to the entrance of the pediatric ward, turning toward me as we stop. “What are we going to be doing?” His head jerks toward the door. “In there.”

I shrug. “Whatever the kids want us to. We basically just hang out with them, color, read, play Barbies. There’s a therapy Labrador retriever named Muffin that comes by and sees them every day. Sometimes we do arts and crafts or play a game.”

“Yeah, I should probably go ahead and warn you that I’m not great with kids.” He pauses. “There’s only one thing I hate more than people.”

My brow lifts in question.

“ Tiny people. Ones that ask a thousand fucking questions about why is the sky blue and why you have to breathe air to survive. I’m an only child—I don’t know shit about kids except they poop in diapers and cry all the time.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. Saint not great with kids… shocker.

“Saint, most of the kids in here aren’t babies. They’re older toddlers and young kids. Sure, they’ll probably ask you a billion questions, but you’re not going to have to change any diapers.”

“Thank fuck ,” he mutters, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. “This was not part of the arrangement, Golden Girl. You’re lucky I’m ready to get my peaceful ice time back, or you’d be here by yourself.”

I laugh. “I said thank you once, that’s all you get. C’mon, let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

He’s still muttering behind me as we push through the doors and head to the volunteer coordinator’s office. She goes over the visitation rules, specifically noting to make sure we sanitize before going into the playroom, and once she’s done, we walk back out into the hallway.

The first thing I spot is my parents chatting with the hospital president in front of the playroom.

As usual, my mom’s dressed like she’s attending a business conference instead of hanging out with kids all day.

She’s got on a pair of black slacks and an off-white blouse with a pair of Chanel slingbacks.

Her honey-blonde hair is tightly coiffed at the nape of her neck, not a strand out of place.

It makes me feel like I’m underdressed in the old pair of blue jeans, OU sweatshirt, and sneakers I’m wearing, which is insane, but that’s the effect that Madeline Rousseau has on people.

I’ve always felt smaller standing beside her, even if she didn’t purposefully try to make me feel that way.

“Why does your mom look like she’s going to a board meeting? Does your family own this place too?” Saint mutters beside me.

My head shakes. “No. That’s just… who she is. Casual to her is leaving the pearls at home.”

Both of my parents turn to look at us when Saint snickers, and I suck in a deep, unsteady breath.

Here we go.

Before I can move to walk across the room to where they’re standing, I feel Saint’s palm sliding along mine as he threads our fingers together, holding my hand tightly.

“What?” he asks when he sees me staring up at him.

“Nothing. Are you ready?”

He nods. “Lead the way, Golden Girl.”