Page 66 of Long Shot

“It was fast, but it was fierce. I just . . .” I stroke her cheek. “I got kind of jacked up.”

She smiles. “Me, too.” Then her smile fades. “But it probably wasn’t a good idea.”

“You mean the whole employer/employee thing.”

“Yes.” She sighs. “I made this mistake once before.”

“Shit.” I scowl at her. “With chef superdouche?”

She rolls her lips inward as if trying not to smile. “Maybe.”

“Was that why you quit?” Then another thought strikes me. “That’s why he threw a beer bottle at you? Was he in love with you? Not that any asshole who actually loves someone would do something like that—”

“He was an asshole,” she says. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Fuck.” This pisses me off.

“Look, Casanova—you’ve probably slept with fifty women since I’ve known you and that’s not very long. Maybe we should just not discuss our sexual histories.”

I narrow my eyes. “Not fifty. Jesus.”

“Close.”

“Does that bother you?”

She purses her lips. “Of course not.”

“Liar.” I lean over and smooch her nose. “But okay, let’s just set that aside. This was completely consensual, right?”

“I think you know that.” She holds my gaze steadily.

“Yeah.” Her skin is incredibly soft under my fingertips. “I guess on the face of it, it’s a bad idea to sleep with your employee.”

“On the face of it?”

“But where’s the real harm? I don’t believe you feel like you were forced to sleep with me to keep your job.”

“Um, no.” Her dry tone makes me smile.

“We’re both adults. If we keep things out of the workplace, where’s the harm?”

She gives me a long, searching look. “Are you saying you want . . . more than just a fast fuck?”

“Hey, I said I’m sorry about the speed,” he jokes. Because her question throws me.

Usually I make a quick exit after getting off, after making sure the woman I was with completely understood that I don’t do relationships and we wouldn’t see each other again. Yeah, considering Reese and I work together, that would be awkward.

But for once, I don’t want to get out of her bed and bolt. I don’t want to have that conversation where I make it clear she’ll never hear from me again.

I’m the guy who’s not into commitment. Relationships have never worked for me in the past. Anytime someone seems to care for me, it’s because they feel sorry for me. I gave up on that years ago, and in the Navy it was easier to just have one-nighters or short-term flings. There are only a handful of people in the whole world I’ve ever really cared about, and my mom and my brother both deserted me. My SEAL teammates have been the only people who’ve been there for me, especially Marco and Beck.

So this is a little unsettling, but I have to be honest. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

She continues to regard me with an unwavering gaze.

I’m at a loss for words. Talking about feelings—hell, evenhavingfeelings—doesn’t come easy to me. I know I have to say something . . . that if I want more than one fast fuck, we have to have some kind of conversation and agreement about what’s happening. Pressure makes my throat tighten up and I cough. “There’s something special between us.”

Fuck, that was lame. I sound like a bad romance novel. What I want to say is I’ve wanted to bang her brains out since the minute I walked into Conquistadors and saw her standing talking to Marco, waiting for her job interview. But that wouldn’t sound right, either. I sigh.

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