Page 46 of Play Dirty

He’s such a good guy, so handsome and kind and gentle.

The kind of man I should fall in love with.

The kind of man who might actually be good for me.

Except it’s too late for a man like that. For me anyway.

I’m damaged goods—and he can have almost anyone.

When he comes out of the bathroom, he’s wearing nothing but his boxers and I swallow. I’ve seen him half-dressed before, but this is different.

This time, he’s in my bedroom.

This time, we’re alone.

And I’m more attracted to him than ever.

His torso is lean and strong, with a six-pack that makes my mouth water. His shoulders are wide, his waist and hips narrow, and the dark hair on his chest is raw and masculine.

“It’ll take me a bit to do my nightly routine,” I say, forcing myself to avert my gaze. “I never go to bed with makeup on, but you don’t have to wait for me.”

“I’ll wait,” he says gruffly, his eyes searching out mine.

Almost like he’s thinking the same things I am.

And for some reason, that makes me happy.

I don’t understand it, but I really want us to fall asleep together, and my gut tells me he feels the same way.

It makes no sense, because nothing is going to happen one way or the other, but it’s been a long time since I fell asleep with a man next to me.

Is it wrong that I want to enjoy it?

I think it over as I remove my makeup, brush my teeth, and go through a condensed version of my skincare routine. And it all boils down to the same thing: I like him. Maybe a little too much. If we don’t have a future then I want to take advantage of a few stolen moments like this one.

I walk back into the bedroom and the sight before me almost takes my breath away. He’s on the bed—Marty Nadeau is in my bed, and that’s incredibly hot despite the boundaries I’ve set—casually doing something on his phone.

“Letting my mom know I won’t be home for a bit,” he says, looking up with a faint smile. “I amsogetting the third degree when I get home.”

I chuckle. “Well, that’s the price for your live-in babysitter.”

“My mom is awesome,” he says, putting his phone on the nightstand. “And she loves the kids.”

“You’re lucky you have that.”

“I am.”

“What about Brenna’s parents?”

“They love the kids, but they live in Maine and don’t like to fly. They always expected us to bring the kids to them, which we could only do in the summer.”

“Ugh.” I stretch out beside him and slide under the covers. “You can get under the blanket if you’re cold.”

He smiles. “I’m pretty hot-blooded. I think I’ll be okay. But thank you.”

“Thank you for hanging with me last night,” I whisper sleepily.

“It was my pleasure.”

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