His fingers find my chin and lift it to meet his eyes.
“Even odds, Shay baby. But it’ll be worth every ounce of pain.”
And right then, I feel everything I had forgotten how to want.
Full lips consume me in a kiss that’s not rushed or wild, but quiet and worth waiting for. The kind that says I missed you, even if the words aren’t spoken. Our tongues tangle in that familiar dance I still know by heart, and when his hand cups my jaw and my fingers fist in his shirt, it feels like home.
This isn’t a spark. It’s a rekindling.
A homecoming.
It’s desperate and needy and better than I remember. He still smells incredible, like him. He tastes the same too, with a hint of mint on his tongue that I dream about when I allow myself to miss him. Both hands stay anchored on my cheeks, as if he’s scared to let go.
It’s scary how right this feels when I know it’s so wrong.
Pulling back, he traces my jaw with his finger. The sadness and longing in his eyes are impossible to miss. If I could see my own, I’m sure they’d look the same.
“I’ll never recover from you, and I don’t ever want to.” One last kiss is pressed to my forehead before he steps away. “Good night, Agent Shay.”
And as he leaves me alone in my room, he takes my heart with him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I need one minuteof peace and a bubble bath. Too bad that won’t happen anytime soon.
“No, Trevor,” I repeat for the tenth time since answering his call. “I’m not going to ask Deshawn’s doctor those kinds of questions. If you want answers, you can ask her. My job is to be supportive. Not pushy.”
Irritation leaks through the phone. “Itisyour job, Turner. You need to remember you’re not his mother.”
“I’m not acting like his mother. I—”
“Fine,” he interrupts. “His babysitter.”
That’s ironic considering the only toddler I work with is him. Trevor’s refusal to understand that asking Deshawn’s doctor to speed up the physical therapy process because of his impending contract renewal is not only unhelpful, but fucking disgusting.
“Deshawn is focusing on recovery. Reminding him about the upcoming season and everything that’s at stake won’t be helpful. He’s already worried that he won’t be ready by preseason. I’m not going to add to his stress.”
He scoffs. “I hoped after your win with the golden boy, you’d realize this job is about money. Agents who care too much about feelings and emotions never have fruitful careers.”
Gritting my teeth, I look up at the sky. “There’s nothing wrong with caring about my client.”
Shit.
“Your client?” A beat of silence passes before he barks a laugh. “Miller is notyourclient. He’s mine. Do you hear me? My clients belong to me. All you do is answer emails and do the work I don’t have time for.”
If that’s true, then he should do it on his own. That would save me six hours a day.
But since I can’t afford to get fired, I reluctantly nod. “Got it.”
“Good. When you get back to the office, there’s a lot I need you to do.”
I block out the rest of his rant and start my walk back to Permian. My midday excursion wasn’t planned, but the break from the office was needed. After a surprising call from Simon Godfrey, who’s very serious about working with me in the future, I sat on hold for over an hour with Clear Lake University for Cade’s degree. Annoyingly, no one got back with me. Then Holly and Victoria invited me to brunch to discuss their ongoing soccer season. During brunch, Mom called to say she saw the photos of me with Cade before the All-Star Game’s red carpet. With yet another reminder from her that I have no time for anything but work, Deshawn texted and asked if I could make it to physical therapy.
Life has always been busy, but it kicked into overdrive after returning from Atlanta a week ago. More phone calls. More meetings. More endorsement and sponsorship discussions.
Less sleep. Less rest. Less of everything that isn’t work.
Sarabeth says my meds can only do so much, and the amount of stress I’m putting my body through isn’t doing me or my PCOS anyfavors. The cystic pimple on my chin, fatigue, sweet cravings, and painful cramps from hell prove that.
