A day in the life of Malcolm Saint. I laugh inwardly and try to focus on the game, but all I can think about is Malcolm’s arm behind my back. He looks so inviting in that T-shirt, all I want to do is cuddle up closer to him and bury my face in his chest and have him hold me to him with his strong arms. Instead, there’s about three inches of couch between us, which I deliberately put there for the same reason that I want to crawl into his lap. I need to calm down.

Just then, Malcolm drops his arm around my hips, and he draws me to him in one swift motion. I end up with my thigh touching his, and his arm around me.

“That’s better,” he says, satisfied with himself as he leans back again and keeps watching the game. Another sip of Pinot Noir.

Tahoe seems to have seen Malcolm’s little move, because he starts laughing. Malcolm shoots him a glare and draws me closer to him.

Men. I roll my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. I turn to see Malcolm staring at my lips, which are pursed and lightly twisted in a barely controlled smile.

“This mouth,” he says, reaching down and using the pad of his thumb to pull my lips apart. He’s still looking at my lips as he withdraws his hand. He leans down to kiss me, and I freak and turn my head away. He just chuckles and places a big kiss on my cheek.

“Damn, I’ve never seen that before,” says Callan.

“What?” I ask.

He motions to Malcolm. “The king being rejected by a woman.”

“I didn’t reject him!” I say quickly. I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. I turn to look at Malcolm, and he has a slight scowl on his face. I’m sure he’s making a mental note to kick Callan’s ass later.

“You did,” insists Callan. “You’re gonna have to nurse that wound later.” He winks at me, and I feel Malcolm grow tense next to me.

“What? What did I miss?” says Tahoe, with his eyes still glued to the TV.

“Oh, nothing, it’s just that our boy here just got—”

“OOH!! FUCK YEAH! THAT’S RIGHT!!!” Tahoe shoots up from his chair and claps his hands together. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!!!”

I think something good just happened. Callan and Malcolm look back to the screen and join Tahoe’s little celebration. I feel Malcolm’s chest vibrate with his deep voice, and I feel my head instinctively sink a little closer to him.

He leans his head down to my ear and explains what happened. I nod, but all I can think about is how his voice sounds. Deep and manly. And I just want to crawl into his lap again.

He plants a kiss on my temple and looks back up at the screen.

This is too much. I try to move away from him, but he just tightens his arm around me. Fuck.

I hadn’t really been into baseball so much until now, and even though I’m so relaxed that I could tune out, Malcolm keeps reminding me that he knows I’m here with his stupid little touches. Sometimes it’s a kiss on the top of my head, or his hand on my thigh, or his thumb rubbing across the inside of my wrist. Each and every touch makes me dissolve and dissolve and dissolve. They’re little, insignificant touches, but they make my head swirl and my stomach flip.

I promised myself I wouldn’t, but by the end of the game my head is on his chest and his arm is holding me against him. Callan and Tahoe keep staring at us A) like we’re some kind of dinosaur/extinct animal they can’t believe is actually there before their eyes, and B) like we’re some kind of magical sight that might disappear in a blink of an eye. I can tell they’re not used to seeing Malcolm like this. And I feel like I’m playing with fire. I feel like the closer I cuddle into him, the more I relax into him, the more I let my head settle into the crook of his shoulder, the harder I’ll burn later.

At one point in the game, I stand up to get some air because I feel like I’m doing something I really shouldn’t be doing. It takes every single ounce of self-control I have to edge away from Malcolm’s huge chest and go to the kitchen. It’s like leaving bed on a Sunday morning, Malcolm being my own personal king-size mattress. The moment I leave I miss his warmth, his arms, the sound of his voice next to my ear when he talks. I remember I could even feel his abs move under my head. His stomach is rock hard. I shudder and focus on getting my cool back.

When I come back, I sit down with ten inches of couch between us again, hoping that I’m sending him a message. He doesn’t even think about it this time, just looks at me like I’m doing something funny, and snakes his arm around my hips again to drag me back to my place. Which, in his opinion, is under his arm and against his chest. And so we stay like that for the remainder of the game. Tahoe actually stands up at one point and gives my leg a little nudge because apparently I’m falling asleep.