Page 32 of Mistletoe Meet Cute
“I did not,” I argue as the phone slips while I struggle to make sure this doesn’t turn X-rated. “Don’t try to blame this on me.”
But as I adjust myself and the phone, I realize it was probably my thumb hitting the wrong button that got me into this in the first place.
He shrugs, unaffected, in that worn black Kings hoodie he basically lives in... the one that looks so good stretched across his chest, it should come with a warning label attached. “Guess I missed seeing your face.”
Ohh. . . Now, that was good.
I ignore the way my heart decides to skip a beat and fall back into our usual banter. “Right. Because you missed my face. More like you were probably checking to see if I decorated anything else.”
“Vixen,” he warns, and yup, there goes that voice again. “There isn’t anything left to decorate.”
“I’m sure I could find something...” I whisper, trying to find the strength to tease him instead of staring into the heat in his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be going over your playbook or something? Not?—”
“Not what?” he interrupts, his voice dropping into that low, sexy register that makes my stomach flip.
“Not flirting with your nanny while she’s naked in the tub...” I try to bring up our work arrangement as much for my own sanity as for his, but I’m pretty sure that’s gone. At least on my part. Camden Monroe has invaded every spare inch ofmy thoughts. Most of which would have me firmly placed on the naughty list. But damn, it might just be worth a little coal.
My grumpy grinch licks his lips. “Who says I’m flirting?”
“Are you?” I ask softly.
Camden’s laugh is warm and wicked and caresses my damp skin. “Would you care if I was? Pretty sure that would be crossing all sorts of lines.”
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
Because honestly?
It would be crossing every line we’ve ever set between us, but I’m pretty sure I don’t care. And that realization is terrifying.
Before I can answer, Sophie’s soft whimper echoes through the baby monitor, saving me from myself. “I have to go,” I tell him softly, clutching the phone tighter.
He nods, eyes still locked on me. “Go take care of my girl, vixen,”—then softer—“and for the record, I’d never just text. Some things deserve to be said face-to-face.”
The call ends, but I don’t move. Luckily, Sophie doesn’t cry again either, because I’m fairly certain I’m useless now.
The hot water cools too quickly, or maybe it’s just me. My heart hammers in my chest as my nerves spark and my pulse pounds, all from that call and what it could mean.
Thewhat-ifsandcould-I’s. . .
What if he feels this too?
Could I open myself up like that again?
What if I get hurt again?
What if I shouldn’t trust him either.
I sink deeper into the tub, staring at the faint ripples in the vanilla-peppermint scented water and try to steady my breathing and my rapidly racing thoughts. Camden Monroe is my brother’s teammate. He’s a dad. He’s my boss. He’s closed off and broody as hell. There’s a snow-covered mountain of reasonswhy I shouldn’t even be thinking about stepping over the friend-zone line...
But the thing is—I think I want to.
My phone buzzes again, and for one wild second, I think it’s him.
That he’s calling me back.
That I’m not alone with all this.
Until I see his text.
