Page 100 of The Overtime Kiss

“C’mon, Slater! You better throw a football better than you hit a golf ball,” he says.

I arch a brow, then whistle in appreciation. “Hello, trash talker. What was that about?”

“He’s one of the guys I played golf with over the summer. We were teammates in that tournament in Cozy Valley.”

“Does that mean you stink at golf too?” I feign innocence,as if I don’t know that I’m pushing his buttons, but I’m secretly eating up these details about Tyler’s life outside of hockey.

“Hey, watch it,” he says with a smile that tells me he likes my teasing.

“Do you guys need to start a club for pro athletes who flounder on the links?”

“Damn, woman, you pull no punches.”

“And you wouldn’t want it any other way,” I say, feeling bold. Because he likes my style of bold.

Briefly, though, I wonder—am I doing such a good job at being a super nanny? Does a super nanny flirt with her boss like this?

But then I shove those thoughts away. I’m not nannying right now, and we’re just having fun.

Just in case, I shift gears when there’s a break in the action. “Do you go there a lot to see your friends?” I ask.

“I do, yeah. Holden lives there with his kids. Some of my other dad friends do too,” he adds. “We get together whenever we can for bocce ball and other lawn games.”

“A single dads club?”

He seems to give that some thought. “You know…maybe it is.”

I lean closer. “Cheeseball.”

“Watch it, Snow,” he warns, but he’s still squeezing my hand. He shoots me a look—the kind that lingers just a second too long. The kind that feels like it should’ve happened months ago.

And this? This feels perfect in a new way.

Like a perfect date.

Especially when the Renegades pull out a win, and as we make our way out of the packed stadium—along with the spilled popcorn, the beers, and the happy fans—Tyler asks if I want to meet Holden.

“Sure, but what if I think he’s cuter than you?” I ask, all innocent.

His eyes darken, and he tugs me toward him. “I’ll have to spank you for that.”

“Promise?”

His expression turns feral.

And we’re not heading toward the authorized personnel area any longer.

It takes forever to get out of the stadium lot, and once we do, there’s a whole city to traverse. But as we go, Tyler keeps one hand on the wheel, the other on my thigh.

Sliding it up and down, up and down.

And I had no idea I’d be ready to climb him just from his hand on my leg. But I am. I’m a hot, wet mess.

“Are you trying to break our schedule?” I ask.

“Been thinking about that sex schedule,” he says as we near the house, and right now, I wouldn’t mind if he threw it out. I really wouldn’t.

“What about it?”

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