Page 32 of Not In Love

His gaze followed her before he even realized he was looking for her.

Kash walked around the other end of the kitchen to the sink and rinsed out a glass. Her top was a soft cream that bared her shoulders, her leggings black, her hair pulled up into a loose bun with strands falling against her cheek. The arch of her neck looked inviting.

She looked… rested. Not fully. Not yet. But there was something different in her posture, in her face. Not just the exhaustion she always carried—but a lightness. A little room to breathe.

He’d missed her more than was sane. Missed her voice. Her sarcasm. The way she looked at him when she was pretending not to look at all.

The silence in January should’ve helped. He’d filled it with meetings, events, fundraisers. Tried his best to give her the time and space she needed. He’d even stayed longer than he had originally planned, hoping it would help him forget their night even a little.

Instead, it made his longing for her now an intrinsic part of him. It pulsed at all times of the day, like some phantom limb.

He was already in too deep.

And if he was being honest, he didn’t want to climb out. Not anymore.

Reaching the kitchen island, he cleared his throat.

She turned and something flickered in her eyes. “Hey,” she said, a soft, shy smile coasting her lips. “I’ve been meaning to...” she cleared her throat, “catch up with you.”

“Hey.”

The kitchen was tucked in its own little pocket of quiet, the music and noise of the living room muffled by the distance.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good. Tired. Coming out of a week of hospital hell.”

“I can tell.” He nodded toward the mug in her hand. “You’re on your second mug of that bland shit you don’t like. That’s the red flag.”

She laughed softly, brown eyes aglow. “Can’t get away from your hawk-like notice, can I?”

His heart thudded at the sound of her laugh, his skin thrumming at her nearness. “Didn’t know you were trying that hard.”

She glanced at him sidelong, brows raised. After a hesitant pause, she said, “You look tired. Was the tour a lot?”

“It was fine. Reminded me how much I hate traveling,” he said. “I’m jet-lagged from doing too many stupid press things in too many cities.”

“Press things,” she said, eyes brimming with laughter. “Very specific.”

He shrugged. “It was all soccer academy promo—fundraising dinners, campaign meetings, visiting schools, giving pep talks to seven-year-olds who now think I’m some kind of wizard.”

“And are you?”

He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. “Only with certain women.”

He waited for her to pick up the bait.

“You were in New York, right?” she asked instead, disappointing him.

“New York, Boston, L.A., Philly. I met with a few youth development orgs, did panels with ex-players about mentoring, and pitched to two brands about backing the scholarship fund.”

Kash tilted her head, visibly impressed. “That mentorship element pairs pros with kids from single-parent homes? That’s a smart angle.”

“You read about that?” he said, surprised. “Although it’s not just a PR angle. I want to get that fund into place.”

“I might’ve asked Muriel a few questions about the soccer academy,” she said, sounding nonchalant. But her interest spilled over to her entire face, bathing it in a golden glow. “Tried very hard to not make it look like I was keeping tabs on you.”

“Did it work?”

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