Page 110 of Changing the Playbook
Her breathless laugh vibrates against my chest.
“What?” I carefully lower her legs.
“Just thinking we’ve really redefined ‘gym recovery.’”
“Most effective cool-down I’ve ever had.”
“Your physical therapist might disagree.”
“Worth the lecture.” I brush wet hair from her face. “Another first for us.”
“I liked it.”
She reaches for body wash but surprises me by working it into a lather between her palms, then starting on my chest. No one’s ever washed me after sex, and the intimacy of it catchesme off guard. Her hands work methodically, massaging sore muscles as she goes.
“I can do that,” I protest weakly.
“I know.” Her hands drift lower, ghosting over my spent cock. “I want to.”
She takes her time with each muscle group, fingers finding every knot. I groan as she works a particularly tight spot in my back, and when she finishes, arousal stirs again despite our recent activities.
“Sophie—”
“Mike.” She smiles, water sluicing around us. “I need to tell you something.”
My stomach drops. Those words are the preview to heartbreak. “OK…”
“I’ve been thinking. About us. About what this is.”
I shut off the water, grabbing towels. “And?”
“And I—” She stops, squares her shoulders. “Why is this so hard?”
“Hey.” I cup her face, tilting it up. “Whatever it is, tell me. Even if you’ve realized this was a mistake, or you need space, or?—”
“I love you.”
The words hang between us, almost visible in the steam. My brain stutters, processes, confirms she didn’t just end us after mind-blowing shower sex but delivered the opposite. The very opposite.
“Sophie—”
“I love you. Complete, terrifying, can’t-stop-thinking-about-you love.”
My chest feels too small, ribs threatening to crack from how hard my heart pounds. These words have lived in my throat for days, and here she stands, brave enough to speak them first in a locker room that smells of chlorine and old sweat.
“Say something,” she whispers. “You’re looking at me like I ran over your dog.”
I kiss her instead—not urgent like before but soft, reverent, trying to pour everything I feel through the connection. And when I pull back, we’re both shaking.
“I love you too,” I tell her. “Have for a while now. Been trying to figure out the perfect way to tell you.”
Her whole face transforms. “Really?”
“Really. I had this whole plan. Candles, actual food I cooked myself, maybe some music.”
“You can’t cook.”
“I was going to practice.” I pull her against me. “Now my very romantic plan has been completely derailed by you.”
