It takes him a while to process that. “Did you really want to?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly, only somewhat surprised by his astuteness. His ability to listen. “I’m too afraid to hope for anything.”

“Love,” he grates, sounding pained for me. “Maybe we start thinking differently.” His fingers thread through my hair, his thumb tracing the curve of my jawline. “Maybe we stop bending to fit. Forcing things. Because something is out there hoping for you. Hoping you’ll arrive exactly as you are. That’s a fact.”

I’m almost as surprised by the passion in his voice as I’m affected by it. How it makes me want to confide more and more. “I want to write. It’s my favorite part of everything I’ve tried. I keep coming back to it.”

He presses his forehead to mine, looking me in the eye. “Then write.”

Our mouths are a millimeter away from each other and suddenly I’m thinking about Edward from Twilight having perfect breath to lure prey. Is Tobias a vampire? Because his warm exhale is minty with a hint of chocolate and promise of bliss. I almost lean back to check if he’s sparkling. But I can’t move away. Not when his lips coast over mine and he’s looking so deeply into my eyes it’s like he’s trying to read my mind. In the back of my head, I can already hear myself moaning. Begging. What is he doing to me?

A whistle blows on the field and I flinch back, breathing hard.

Tobias hasn’t moved. Hasn’t stopped staring at me, his chest heaving.

It takes serious willpower to stop devouring the sight of him up close, his engine clearly revved, but I remind myself I came to the game for Banks. Sure, he sent Tobias with me, but I doubt he planned for us to make out in the front row. I release a long breath and cross my legs, earning a raspy chuckle from Tobias, and do my best to focus on the match.

And honestly, watching rugby is far from the equivalent of a cold shower. All these men piling on top of each other with their mountain warrior thighs and short shorts? Banks pressed and confident in his suit, that deep boom of a voice carrying all the way across the field? Tobias stroking my thigh with a lazy but attentive knuckle?

Yowza.

At the end of a time out, before play resumes, Banks and I lock eyes across the expanse of green and something passes between us. Warmth and gratitude and yearning. Maybe a combination of the three? I don’t know, but I can barely breathe afterward.

On the heels of that, Tobias leans over and begins murmuring the rules in my ear and now I’m so hot, I feel like I’m sweating everywhere. The stimuli is hitting me from all sides, continuing on for the longest forty minutes of my life. I almost dive out of my seat when halftime arrives. “I’m going to get a water,” I say in a rush to Tobias. “Do you want something?”