Page 98 of The Game Plan
The athletic director allowed him to continue coaching after a few meetings where Grant had to prove our history. Luckily, I like to take photos and have many from our time together throughout the years. After the AD realized it wasn’t a malicious or ill-intended situation, he told Grant to resume his coaching responsibilities.
Tonight, I want to show him how much he’s appreciated.
Which is why I’ve been studying a recipe for cheesy bruschetta chicken with mashed potatoes and asparagus. Bruschetta sounded good, and when I searched the internet, this recipepopped up. It looked simple enough, though my knife work leaves the diced tomatoes uneven. The food smells amazing. Maybe once I graduate, I’ll take a few beginner cooking classes. I’m a wife; I should know more than just how to order takeout.
I wasn’t ready to take Lennon to the store by myself. The anxiety of something happening to her freaked me out to the point I sat with decision paralysis for twenty minutes. I almost settled on ordering dinner from a local restaurant, but then I remembered I could order grocery delivery. Thank god for the 21st century and the need for better grocery services.
Glancing at the time on the microwave, Grant should be pulling in at any moment. Lennon went down about fifteen minutes ago, which means we should have at least two hours before she wakes. The rustling of keys draws my attention away from where I’m scooping the bruschetta onto the chicken.
“Smells amazing in here,” he calls out, his voice a mix of soft and gravelly from shouting plays all day. I wait for him to round the corner as he places his keys on the hook next to the door.
My breath catches as I stare up to find hazel eyes observing me. There’s a look in his gaze I can’t quite decipher. Lust. Longing. Love. Something pulls me into his orbit. I admire the way his athletic shirt sculpts his muscles and how his jaw tics as he moves closer toward me.
His eyes rake over me. I wanted to look better than my usual hot-mess self. This afternoon, I placed Lennon in her bouncy chair and took a much-needed everything shower. I shaved every inch of my body except my head, exfoliated and moisturized, applied a light layer of makeup, and curled my hair in soft waves. Though I could’ve worn a lounge set, I opted for a sexy baby-blue slip dress.
I bought it months ago on a whim, never thinking I’d actually wear it—not after giving birth, with stretch marks, and especially not for him. But tonight, I needed to feel something other thanexhaustion. Even tired and covered in baby fluids, I’m still a woman.Hiswoman. I wanted to feel sexy and desired in a way I haven’t in a long time.
The fabric is light and gauzy, grazing my hips without clinging to my newly formed curves. Its top dips low, with floral embroidery dancing across the cups, the dainty bow giving it a sweet yet sultry vibe and accentuating my large breasts.
“Fuck, Peach,” he groans. “You look delicious.”
My stomach flutters. “Welcome home, Coach.”
He inhales deeply, staring at the ceiling before running a hand down his face. His bag hits the floor as he rounds the counter, his strong chest pressing against my back, hands caging me as he nuzzles the crook of my neck, breathing me in. I’m grateful for the extra-long shower, scented lotion, and a dab of my signature perfume—the peach and vanilla combination that drives him wild.
As he trails small kisses on my exposed skin, goosebumps break free.
I continue scooping the bruschetta onto the final piece of chicken breast. “Let me put this in the oven, and I’ll get the appetizer started.”
“Forget the dinner, I want you,” he mumbles. I smile to myself, knowing that’s exactly the appetizer I have in store for him. Only, instead of me, I’ll be having him.
Sprinkling the cheese on top of the bruschetta-covered chicken, I place the lid over the pan to keep it hot and melt the cheese. All while Grant continues running his rough hands over my hips and peppering kisses on my skin.
I turn in his arms, and Grant cups my cheek as we stare at each other. Emotion flickers behind his eyes as his jaw flexes. I’m desperate for him, and based on his gaze, he’s just as desperate for me. We haven’t had many chances to be intimate, with me navigating this wrecking-ball body and the constraints of oursituation. I haven’t been cleared for sex yet, and if I weren’t worried about another baby, I’d scream,fuck it. But neither of us is ready for number two any time soon.
It’s like a tension-filled bubble has popped as Grant closes the space between us and kisses me. His tongue finds mine, and I melt at our connection. I can feel his erection pressing against my stomach, and I’m needy to have it inside me.
Moans fill the room, and I can’t tell who they’re from. And while he’s barely touching me, I could come from this moment alone. From how much he wants me.
He cups one breast over the silky material and grazes his thumb over my nipple, pinching it slightly. I groan at the feel of his touch.
“Grant,” I moan in his mouth.
He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand inside the cup of my dress. His nostrils flare as he tries to cup my breast, which has doubled in size.
“This fucking dress,” he whispers. “Goddamn, Peach.”
His mouth moves lower, down my neck, over my collarbone, to the flesh of my breast as he nips and kisses along the way. When he pinches the exposed breast tight, I clench my thighs together.
“I’ve been waiting to have you again,” he says. “Waiting until you were ready, but fuck, Savvy. I’m starved for you. I’ve been waiting to taste you, to touch you. To worship this incredible body that’s given me the best gift I could ever ask for.”
My heart warms at his admission, causing my core to tingle. I’m still recovering from birth,down there, but his heated words are causing me to ache in all the right places. I respond by placing my hands beneath his chin. Hot, hooded hazel eyes stare at me with his mouth still glued to my breast. It’s erotic.
I pull against his chin as his mouth leaves the fleshy part of my breast with a pop, no doubt leaving a mark.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, standing to his full height.
Shaking my head, I drop to my knees. My hands land on his waist as I start fumbling with his belt.
