MOLLY
We don’t fall asleep until the middle of the night. I didn’t know that my body could physically have that many orgasms, but apparently, it can.
And waking up after a few short hours of delicious, tangled-up-with-Jeff-Rosehill-naked sleep ishard.
But as soon as the heavy arm that’s been wrapped around my waist all through the early morning slides away from my body, I’m startled awake.
Murmuring in protest, I try to catch him and tug him back against me.
“Go back to sleep,” Jeff says, his voice a low rumble against my hair.
“Don’t go,” I mumble.
“I have to, unfortunately. I need to go home and pack. We’re leaving on a road trip tonight after the game.”
The game.
Because he’s the manager of the baseball team I work for, and I spent half the night with his head between my thighs.
With a start, I lurch upright in bed.
His eyebrows lift, clearly amused as he takes in whatever my expression is. “Hi.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“Is that morning-after-regretsoh my Godor a you-just-remembered-how-good-five-orgasms-in-a-row-feeloh my God?”
I touch my head, frantically feeling for what kind of insane bedhead I have.
He pats my hands away and kisses my forehead. “You look gorgeous.”
I stare at him.
I slept with the manager of the Outlaws.
I’m married to him too. But that was a paperwork mistake.
Him calling me his pretty little wife as my clit pulsed against his tongue… that didn’t feel like a mistake, though.
Oh God.
In an hour or two, I’m going to walk into work and I’m still going to be the new girl in the PR office, and he’s… he’s going to coach a baseball game today and then get on a plane because the team is leaving for a road trip as soon as this opening home stand ends.
“Um…” I swallow hard.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Last night …”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You’re not freaking out,” I whisper.
“Wasn’t planning on it, no.” He catches a sliding lock of my hair and twirls it, letting it slide against his fingers. “Wasn’t planning on talking about this first thing, either, because I thought you should stay sleeping. You’re really fucking pretty when you’re asleep. And when you’re awake, for that matter. But since you’re insisting on sitting up… How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I lie, but it comes out like a squeak.
He keeps playing with my hair, his expression softening into a thoughtfulness that takes me by surprise. “Can I ask you something?”
