Page 78 of The Overtime Kiss

I wish she had. I wish she’d pushed open the door, leveled me with her sexy gaze, fiddling with the hem of her sleep shirt, and asked—in that Sabrina ramble—for a do-over.

“It should happen again,” she’d have murmured, like she’d already decided.

“It really should,” I’d have said, voice rough, sheets low onmy waist, the lights dim in my room, the heat shimmering between us in the dark. “Right the fuck now.”

My throat tightens with lust. My mind pictures her closing the distance between us—climbing into my bed, unstoppable, impossibly sexy. I’d toss the covers off, invite her to join me. Watch me. Climb onto my lap. Sink onto my cock.

A rumble rises in my chest, threatening to break free, but I swallow it down along with all this red-hot, fuckingstupiddesire.

Because then what?

We’ve been down this road before. Traveled far down it last week. I’m hardly able to resist her as it is, but she’s working for meall season.

I have to exercise some restraint.

My kids adore her.

Hockey is going well.

I need to keep my focus—on the game, my family, the season.

That’s all.

This is not the time to play this kind of dangerous sex roulette.

“Did you like the NutRageous bar?” I ask, changing the subject with zero warning.

As she finishes a bite of her avocado bagel, she rolls with it. “It was amazing. Have you ever tried one? I saved a little bit for you. Even though it’s notyourguilty pleasure,” she adds, looking down now again.

She says it likeshe’snot my guilty pleasure. Like I’ve rejected her.

Because you did, you dumbass.

She busies herself with tracking down the candy bar she saved in a Tupperware container, then hands it to me, and I say, “I bet I’ll like it.”

Like that can erase the rejection from the other day.

“I bet you can’t resist it,” she says, but it’s not said flirtatiously, like she might have said it before. It’s said matter-of-factly.

I really need to get back to the way we were. Maybe this candy will help. Hell if I know. I take a bite.

And I can see why she loves it, even if candy’s not my thing. The flavors collide in a sweet explosion. “Damn, this is good,” I say, focusing on facts.

“Where did you find it?”

“I went online and ordered it for rush delivery yesterday morning. I wanted you to have your favorite candy bar—the one you never had as a kid.”

Her smile is soft, a little wistful. “You kind of surprised me.”

And I don’t think she’s had a lot of that. Surprises. Kindness. Gifts.

She had a shitty boyfriend for six years who cheated on her and betrayed her on their wedding day.

And before that, she was raised by a mean fucking man.

“Only kind of?” I ask, playing it light, finding my footing again.

“It was onlykind ofbecause…I’ve kind of gotten used to nice things from you.”

---