Page 128 of The Overtime Kiss

It sounds like a date—a date that’s not at all in the tiny sex diary. That’s not part of the game plan. The plan we’re veering far, far away from already.

Briefly, he opens his eyes again to kick off his pants. Then he pulls up the quilt and slides his legs under it. His eyes flutter closed without even a mention of going upstairs.

It feels like another rule is broken as he falls asleep with the kitten in his arms and his head on my shoulder.

31

THE HIRED HELP

Sabrina

But morning always comes, the sun rising on our choices and their consequences. As the sun streaks through the window, my phone trills, rousing me from a dream with a jolt. Grabbing it from the nightstand, I spot Elle’s name on the screen.

What the…?

Snapping my gaze to Tyler, who’s soundly sleeping—and soundly snoring—I bolt out of bed, then answer it the second I hustle past the doorway.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask without bothering to mask my concern. She was supposed to drop the kids off at school…I glance at the time on the TV. Fifteen minutes ago. Panic rushes through my veins.

“Hey!” Her tone is bright, and that’s somewhat reassuring. “I called Tyler, but he didn’t answer, and I’m walking up the steps right now, about to knock on the door.”

She’s here?

I spin around, hunting for clothes in my living room. “Oh, okay.”

“I can just leave their bags on the porch but I figured if he was home it’d just be easier,” she says, apologetic.

I rub my eyes. “Their bags?”

“They didn’t want to take their overnight bags to school. I guess I kind of understand; it’s a pain to lug them around.”

That’s a fair point. A lot of times she’ll drop the bags off in the morning or in the afternoon when she’s had the kids for a sleepover. I spot a sweatshirt on the carpet by the couch. I make a run for it as she says, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you, Sabrina. I don’t really know what hours you keep or what the rules are about calling you for this,” she says. She sounds flustered for the first time, like she’s crossed some sort of line with the hired help.

I wince as those words flash through my brain.

Hired help.

Yep, that’s what I am. I’m the hired help, and my tits are flying free because I banged my boss last night. Fine, he didn’t technically bang me, but…semantics. As shame courses through me, I jam on the sweatshirt, stuffing my arms through it then readjusting the phone. “I’ll be right up,” I say, then hunt for jeans. But I don’t have any pants out here. My stomach tips as I hang up and tiptoe furtively back to my room, opening the door as quietly as I can.

I don’t want to wake him and explain this shitshow.

Tyler rustles in bed, but the man isn’t a lover of sleep for nothing. He doesn’t wake—just snores a little louder as I slide open a drawer quietly and grab a pair of leggings. I dart into the bathroom, yank them on, then douse my dragon breath with some mouthwash. A ten-second gargle later and I’m grabbing a hair tie and yanking my hair into a messy bun. I stuff my phone into the pocket of my leggings then race up the stairs to the front door, swinging it open when I realize—Igrabbed Tyler’s hoodie from the floor. It’s the same color as mine, and I’m swimming in it. It hits me mid-thigh.

But there’s no time to change.

I flash back to all the times I’ve performed on the ice.

When I wobbled during a competition. When I missed a jump. When I fell flat on my ass and had to get right back up. You pick yourself up and you smile, then skate on. I paste on the brightestnever let them see you sweatgrin ever and skate on. “Good morning.”

Elle blinks, looking down at my clothes. “Oh, I didn’t mean to…” She thrusts the kids’ bags at me. “Here.”

I take them and set them down in the foyer. “Thanks.”

She waves a hand like it’s nothing, then she tears her gaze off of my torso and focuses squarely on my eyes. “If you could just let Tyler know that I dropped them off. And that he doesn’t need to return any of my text messages or phone calls about them. We’re all set now.” She spins around, ready to fly down the steps. But then her shoulders pinch and she turns back toward me, holding up a finger. “Though he does need to return my messages about Christmas because I should definitely be able to put the kids on a flight to New York on the twenty-third or the twenty-fourth. I’ll get unaccompanied minor tickets,” she explains quickly.

I freeze.

I didn’t know she had the kids right before Christmas Eve. Sure, he mentioned they were discussing holiday plans, but I didn’t know what those plans were. He didn’t share them with me. All I know is the last hockey game before Christmas is in New York on the twenty-third.

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