Page 27 of My Hotshot

“I went to Stillwater,” I said. “Barely an hour away.”

He shrugged. “You still left.”

“And you could have come with me.”

He shook his head. “You had college. I wasn’t going to college. I barely graduated senior year, babe.” He reached out and gently brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I think the whole school was trying to figure out how my dumbass managed to land the prettiest, smartest girl.”

“No one thought that, Duane,” I said quietly. “They wondered how the nerdy girl managed to land the hot bad boy.”

He grinned. “Well, we sure gave ‘em something to talk about.”

His fingers lingered against my cheek, and I didn’t stop him. I didn’t flinch. If anything, I leaned in.

His hand suddenly dropped. “I can leave if that’s what you want.”

I looked up at him, with my heart tight in my chest and a little confused.

“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted. “I only know that I’m tired of doing everything alone. Even though I was married for fifteen years, I was alone. And that for some dumb reason, texting you tonight didn’t feel like a mistake.”

“That’s not dumb,” he murmured. “It seems like you’re finally doing what you want to do.”

We stood in the hallway, surrounded by painted swatches, and the silence thick but not suffocating.

“Tomorrow,” I said softly, “I might panic. I might regret this, then.”

“Then we deal with tomorrow, tomorrow,” he said, stepping even closer. “Tonight, we just be.”

I didn’t move away.

Not this time.

Chapter Nine

Dice

Lainey blinked at me, slow and warm-eyed, like the wine had smoothed all the edges of her thoughts. “I think I did that when I texted you.”

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Well, then let’s keep that up. How about we refill your glass and watch a movie or something? I doubt you’ll regret that in the morning.”

“You’re just going to watch a movie with me?” she asked, suspicious.

I nodded. “Yup.”

I wasn’t an idiot. As much as I wanted to lean in, press my mouth to hers, and see if she still tasted like cinnamon and innocence like she used to, I knew better. Lainey wasn’t the kind of woman you rushed. Not now. Probably not ever.

“C’mon,” I said, and turned toward the living room. I reached back and caught her hand in mine. Her fingers were cool against my palm, and I gave them a gentle squeeze. “You grab the wine, and I’ll see what I can find to watch.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, and I dropped down onto her couch. It was softer than the ones we had at the clubhouse, not nearly as stained, and it smelled like her—like lemon and linen and just the faintest hint of coconut. I grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels. Nothing caught my eye right away until I landed on an episode ofHighway Through Hell. I didn’t even hesitate. Click.

It was already playing by the time Lainey returned, balancing the bottle of wine, her glass, and a cold beer. She handed me the beer. “I know you’re not into wine,” she said.

I took the bottle with a grin. “Yeah, some things don’t change, babe.”

I twisted off the cap and took a long drink. I watched her perched on the edge of the couch like she was ready to spring up and bolt at any second.

“Relax, babe,” I said, and kicked my boots up onto the coffee table, leaning back.

She poured half a glass of wine, cradled it in both hands, and looked at the TV, still on the edge of her seat. “What are we watching?”

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