Page 62 of One Pucking Life

I don’twantto move.

My body is warm and sore in all the right ways, humming with the afterglow of last night. My muscles ache from the hours we spent tangled together, but it’s the good kind of ache—the kind that reminds me something real happened. I let Max in, all the way in. He saw everything clearly before I could truly see it myself. He had me admitting to feelings I could barely register but were completely felt. I let him in further than I’ve ever let anyone in before. Because he’s different. I feel for him in ways I’ve never felt for anyone before.

Max stirs slightly, still holding me tight, and I can’t help but smile.

How did I get here?

How did I end up in this ridiculously perfect king-sized bed with a man who somehow managed to bulldoze every wall I’ve ever built? Somewhere between playing cards, joking over recipes, and watching him feed a baby mashed bananas—getting more on himself than in her mouth—I fell for him.

He impresses me at every turn, from the way he stepped into fatherhood without hesitation to the way he skates across the ice looking unfairly hot to the way he treats everyone with kindness. I’ve become obsessed.

I thought I could scratch the itch with sex, even convinced myself it was working—but he saw right through the facade.

He saw me.Allof me.

He said he loved me.

He loves me.

And I said it back.

The words feel surreal like they came from someone else’s mouth. But I meant them. Every syllable. Even if my brain is still trying to make sense of it all.

I tilt my head and glance up at him.

He’s still asleep, his jaw slack, lashes dark against his cheeks. There’s a softness to him like this, a quiet vulnerability I don’t think many people get to see. And it does something to me—tightens my chest and settles something low in my belly.

I’ve never felt so exposed. So…seen.And still—there’s a flicker of panic. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed tofall. Not for him. Not foranyone.

Yet here I am, in his arms, and the truth is I don’t want to be anywhere else.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, and slip out from under the covers. The floor is cool against my bare feet as I grabhis oversized T-shirt from last night and pull it over my head. It smells like him, completely delicious, and I have to stop myself from crawling back into bed. I retrieve a pair of panties from my bag and slide them on.

Caroline’s monitor is set up next to the hotel’s sofa. The soft buzz of the monitor fills the quiet. She’s still asleep, her breathing steady through the speaker. The game and later bedtime must’ve worn her out last night.

I exhale and press my hand to my chest, grounding myself as images of last night flash through my mind like a movie reel. There’s a conversation coming, one that isn’t going to be easy. Max deserves clarity, and I owe it to both of us to be honest about what I want—even if I’m still figuring it out myself.

For now, I head to the far wall of the hotel room, where a small coffee pot sits on a countertop. I choose a French vanilla pod and pop it into the machine. With a disposable cup in place, I hit start.

I stifle a gasp when Max’s arms wrap around me. So lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear him get up. He gently pulls my hair to the side and presses soft kisses against my neck. “Good morning.”

Leaning back into his chest, I let out a sigh. “Morning.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks between kisses scattered along my skin.

“Tired… but good.”

“Me too.”

My chin drops to my chest, and my eyes flutter closed as his lips continue to caress the sensitive skin of my neck. All traces of fatigue vanish, and my heart pounds while my core throbs with need. What is wrong with me? I’m so obsessed with Max; it’s insane.

“Actually, I’m also quite hungry,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just beneath my ear.

I suck in a breath. “We could order room service.”

“No. That won’t do.”

He turns me gently in his arms, his eyes dark with hunger—and not for food.

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