Page 73 of Unexpectedly Falling
And I loved it—loved the way he made me feel—like he always knew exactly what I needed. There was no fumbling, no awkwarda little to the leftor wishing I could speed things up to get it over with. I’d given myself over to him far more already than I ever have before.
It’s intoxicating.
He chuckles and my attention shifts back to the conversation. “I’m sorry, what was the question? I was distracted,” I say innocently as I lean my elbow on the table and rest my chin on my hand.
“I was askin’ if you’re already kicking me outta your bed, Miss Hart.”
“It’s only one night, Sheriff.”
“Yes, but starting the last few days with my head between your legs is better than the perfect cup of coffee.”
“Well, if that isn’t the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me…” It’s an offhanded comment but still totally serious. I’ve seen the way Jensen mainlines caffeine with enthusiasm, especially when he’s working a double shift.
“Romantic, huh?” he muses but it’s purely for dramatic effect. “How about you go soak in the bath while I put Remi down,”—his voice drops to a deliciously raspy octave that has me leaning forward like a moth to a flame—“and then I’ll spend the rest of the night massaging and worshipping every inch of your gorgeous body.”
“I’d say you got yourself a deal, Sheriff.”
34
JENSEN
“Nice work, ladies! Do it again—Parker, stay on number eleven,” Nessa shouts as she claps and paces the sideline. She’s fucking magnificent to watch, and I’d been on the edge of my seat since the first whistle sounded.
The excited whispering hasn’t stopped either. Nessa’s more a celebrity than she realizes, especially in Tennessee.
The goalie on the opposing team kicks the ball downfield, the momentum taking it spiraling off course toward the sidelines. An audible gasp sounds as the crowd watches its descent with rapt attention, the ball seemingly making a beeline for Nessa.
She barely reacts, one hand in her pocket, as she traps the ball with ease and brings it to a stop before doing some fancy footwork that would probably give me a hernia, then passing it off to one of her players for a throw-in.
“She’s awesome, isn’t she,” the woman sidling up next to me says, and I have to do a double take before it registers who I’m looking at.
Kinsley Dane, forward for the Tennessee Tornadoes and Nessa’s best friend. She’s stunning, her long black hair pulled up in a sleek ponytail, her dark eyes sparkling as she assesses me.
“She is,” I say, holding out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you in person. Jensen.”
“Kinsley. And likewise, Sheriff. Video chat doesn’t do you justice.” I snort as she points to Remi. “May I?”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” I say, her smile softening as she sees my hesitation.
“I just missed my girl.” Her small shrug is endearing, the tiniest hint of vulnerability in the motion. It’s deliberate—an offering—because as I’ve learned from Nessa, Kinsley doesn’t just offer that to anyone. They are very much alike in that way.
“Thank you.” Unclipping the carrier, I maneuver my daughter into Kinsley’s waiting arms. “Remi is really lucky to have you and Nessa. I just… thank you.” My words get stuck in my throat, the surge of emotion unexpected.
“Aw Sheriff, you big softie,” she teases as she tickles Remi’s belly, making Remi look at her with big blue eyes and a wide, gummy smile. “He is, isn’t he? Yes, he is!”
She coos at my daughter, and I can’t help the way my lips twitch as my gaze returns to the field. Nessa yells, moving down the sideline as one of the girls kicks the ball up the field to her teammate who fakes out a defender and takes the shot.
“GOAL!” Kinsley whoops, lifting Remi’s little arm to cheer.
Nessa claps and pumps her fist, high-fiving the girls on the sideline before subbing them out with the ones on the field and repeating the celebration.
“Can you believe Nessa Hart is coaching right now?”one of girls on the other side of Kinsley says reverently.
“Number thirty-two has my heart!” Kinsley yells, causing Nessa to whip around to face us, her smile wide as she waves. The girls next to Kinsley turn toward her, and the one stumbles into the other.
“Oh myGod!” she squeals as her friend gapes with her mouth open. “You’re Kinsley Dane. Can we have your autograph?”
Kinsley smiles wide as she hands Remi to me and chats with the girls, laughing and taking selfies before wishing them a happy holiday and turning back to me, the ease she’d had a few minutes before a memory as she watches the game.
