Page 63 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

She couldn’t help wondering if she’d impacted him in any way.

Or would he even notice when she left?

* * *

Booker was not himself. He was on edge, jittery.

This had never happened to him before.

It was part of his role as a sports agent to act like he had his shit together. Why would anyone trust him with their career if his life was in chaos?

So, he kept his life clean. Hehadno emotional messes.

On the one hand, he was happy. As they lounged in bed eating sandwiches and devouring cheese, crackers, and nuts, he could admit he’d never felt more comfortable with another person.

So, why did he feel like he’d just knocked back a dozen energy drinks? He knew exactly how this would play out. He’d go back to New York, and she’d go back…wherever she belonged.

Maybe that was part of the problem. He liked her. He could see actually dating her—how crazy was that? But he didn’t really know who she was. He didn’t have enough details.

Yeah, that was it. A threat lurked just beneath the surface of his happiness—her ex barging in to win her back, finding out she was the wife of one of his top clients—something that would burst this bubble.

“Favorite food.” She lay on her side on top of the covers. Her plump breasts strained against the T-shirt she’d thrown on, and her rounded hip sloped down to a thigh covered in black leggings.

She was sexy as fuck and didn’t have a clue. When she’d asked what kind of woman he was attracted to, he hadn’t had the right answer. He did now.

It was an attitude. A woman who could abandon her inhibitions, lose herself in sex—that was hot.

It was Hellcat tipping her head back and crying out, wrapping her thighs around his neck and holding him in place as he licked her pussy. Telling him what she wanted and making sure she got it.

She sure as fuck let herself go. Her responsiveness drove him out of his mind.

They were good together—in and out of the bed. He shifted the blanket to cover his growing hard-on and forced himself to think about her question. “Pot de crème.”

“Are you serious? Pudding’s your favorite food?”

“It’s closer to a mousse than a pudding, but yes.”

“Slick has a sweet tooth. Huh. I love that.”

“What’s yours?” He picked through the nuts for a cashew, his favorite.

“It’s this avocado toast…someone makes for me. It’s got a poached egg and salsa, and it’s unreal. Delicious.” She pinched her fingers together and kissed the tips.

“Someone, huh?” Was her ex a chef? Maybe that was why she couldn’t cook. She relied on him.

“Favorite way to relieve stress.” Idly, she ran her fingers over his forearm.

The slow, rhythmic caress gave him goosebumps. “Fucking.”

She shot him a look.

“What? You asked.”

She squeezed his biceps. “I figured you’d say going to the gym.”

“Nah. That’s how I solve problems. All the mindless repetitions, the counting, it takes the pressure off and enables me to see more clearly. You?”

“It’s the gym for me. I used to go seven days a week.” She pinched her belly. “You wouldn’t know it now.”

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