Draping his arm around my shoulders, he pulled me into his side and started walking again. “Remember this moment of awe when you’re forced to watch Preston’s millionth ventriloquist act.”
“That is more than a fair trade.” I laughed. “This is seriously incredible, Bowen. I grew up at Turner Field, but I’ve only been to a few games since the Braves switched stadiums. Dad insists on the cheap seats though. He swears it’s the best view in the house.”
Jerking his chin toward the field, he mumbled, “You can update him later and let him know if he’s right or not.”
Suddenly a man crashed into me, my beer sloshing down the front of my shirt.
“Hey,” Bowen rumbled, moving me out of the way.
The tall, dark-haired guy roughly my age turned around, intoxicated and swaying. “Shit, man. My bad.” His drunken gaze came to me and he smiled mischievously. “Remi?”
At the obvious familiarity, Bowen clamped his mouth shut. His eyes flicked between me and…whoever the hell the guy was.
Shit. Shit. Shit. It was bound to happen eventually. I’d just hoped I’d have the chance to tell Bowen about my memory issues myself before being outed by somebody else.
It was going to suck, but I knew the routine and slapped on a grin.
“Hi,” I chirped.
He dragged me right out from under Bowen’s arm and into a tight hug. “How the hell have you been, Remi?”
“Great,” I mumbled, instantly breaking the embrace.
Reading my body language, Bowen wasted no time reclaiming my hand, his jaw hard and his expression ominous.
Mr. No Name was too drunk to notice the possessive gesture and stood there staring at me for a long second. It was completely awkward and uncomfortable, but such was my life when I ran into people from my past.
“Uh, it was good to see you again,” I said, desperate to end the interaction.
As I started away, his hand snaked out and caught my arm. “Wait, where are you going so fast?” he slurred.
Just as quickly, Bowen’s hand landed on his wrist, a storm brewing in his eyes as he ordered, “Don’t fucking touch her again.”
Oh shit, was my first thought.
My second was ohhhh shit, complete with a silent moan and some serious nipple tingling, but I figured I should defuse the situation before orgasming.
“It’s okay.” I snatched my arm away. “Everything’s fine.”
Bowen dropped his death grip, and the drunk guy immediately lifted his hands in surrender.
“Jesus, sorry. Relax.”
Bowen didn’t reply as much as he stared, dark and broody as the day I’d met him. Yeah…that time, my clit tingled too.
“Anyway…” I drawled. “We should probably go find our seats.”
He continued his stare-off with Bowen as he answered. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll catch you later.”
Unless he meant that literally, he would not be catching me at all at any point in the future. But now was not the time to break what I feared would be disappointing news to him.
“Take care.” I offered him a tight smile and then waited until he disappeared into the crowd before looking up at Bowen. “Easy, Tiger,” I breathed, curling my hand around the back of his neck.
His honey-brown eyes finally came to mine. “Who the hell was that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, he definitely seemed to know you,” he retorted—rather rudely to be honest.
Ohhhhkay, so this was also reminiscent of the man I’d met, though not in the hot way. I knew exactly how to fix it nonetheless.
I cocked my head to the side. “Well, let’s see. I’ve lived within an hour of this field my entire life, went to college a few hours away, and work in real estate, where I interact with dozens of buyers, sellers, and other agents all over the city. Not to mention, I have two guys for roommates who have any number of friends and acquaintances. A lot of people know me, Bowen. But of course, you know all of this, so why don’t you ask the question you’re really wondering. Did I sleep with him? No.”
At least not that Aaron or Mark had told me, I thought.
My breath caught as he suddenly dipped low, bringing his lips a mere whisper from mine. The stadium was noisy, but I didn’t hear his words as much as I tasted them flutter across my mouth.
“I see a man put his hands on you when your body language reads loud and clear to both him and me that you do not want to be touched, I don’t give a fuck if you’ve slept with him or not. But…” He paused, the side of his lip twitching. “Thanks for the clarification.”
Okay, yeah. This alpha, tough-guy side of Bowen was doing some really serious things to my body. Things that unfortunately were going to have to wait a full nine innings—and a confession about my memory that hopefully didn’t cause him to deem me too delicate for any future sexual endeavors—before I could take care of them.
After all, I still owed him somewhere in the neighborhood of two thousand nine hundred and seventy-five more installments in my payment arrangement.
I swallowed hard, wishing for the first time all day we were anywhere but at a Braves game. Glancing down at the wet spot my sloshed beer had made on my shirt, I sighed. “Maybe we should just find our seats.”
“Not a bad idea.” Bowen guided me toward home plate.
A security guard checking tickets pointed us down to a pair of high-back, padded leather chairs that were a far cry from the hard plastic folding ones my father and I frequented.
“Wow,” I breathed, sitting down. “What exactly does your brother-in-law do again? I may need to consider a career change.”
Bowen chuckled. “He’s an attorney to some of the oldest money in Georgia. Half of his clients are in the grave. The other half are spoiled rich kids living off their inheritances. Trust me. Stick with real estate.”
I smiled over at him. “Have I said thank you yet?”
He winked and brought my hand to his lips to kiss the back. “You have, but I’m more than willing to add it to your tab.” Smirking, he snagged the beer from my hand and took a sip before setting it in the cupholder between us, a casual silence falling over us.
Well, it was casual for him. My knee was bouncing a million miles a minute as I worked up the courage to tell him about my secret.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I blurted out. “I honestly don’t know who he was.”
Curiously, he swung his gaze my way. “It’s fine. Friends hug. Though I’d prefer if those friends could read social cues too.”
“Noted and agreed. But you should know that kind of stuff happens to me a lot.” Shit. Just rip off the damn Band-Aid already. “I, um…suffered a head injury in the plane crash. I lost about eleven months of long-term memory. I’m assuming the first time I met that guy falls into that window of time somewhere.”
“Really?” he said, his eyebrows drawn, but it wasn’t quite the surprise I’d expected.
“Yep. The last thing I remember was driving home from my dad’s house with Aaron. When I woke up in the hospital, I thought we’d been in a wreck. You should have seen my face when the doctors told me it was a completely different year.”
“Have you gotten any of your memories back? Like flashes or dreams?”