“He started it,” I mutter, then immediately feel like a petulant child.
“Very mature.” She twirls her straw between her fingers. “Next you'll tell me he gave you cooties.”
“I'm too fucking tired for this,” I say, but there's no heat behind it. Something about her pulls the tension from mybody, even as she creates a different kind of tension altogether.
“Poor baby,” she coos, mock sympathy dripping from her voice. “Did you have a rough morning? All those muscles must be exhausted from your little workout.”
My eyes narrow. “There was nothing little about my workout.”
“I'm sure.” Her gaze drops to my arms, lingering on the veins visible beneath my skin. “You do look…stressed.”
The way she says it makes my cock quake in my sweats. “I'm fine.”
“Are you?” She leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Because you look like a man who hasn't slept in days.”
She's not wrong. I've been surviving on catnaps between obsessive thoughts of her thighs wrapped around my waist. “I've been busy.”
“Mmm.” She doesn't believe me for a second. “Well, at least this isn't awkward.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What isn't?”
“This.” She gestures between us. “You and me, sitting here like normal people having coffee. I was worried things might be weird after, you know...” She trails off, a small smile playing on her lips. “Our little fling.”
Something inside me goes cold, then hot. Little fling. Like it was nothing. Like I haven't been losing my goddamn mind for four days straight.
“Little,” I repeat, my voice flat.
“Well, yeah.” She shrugs one shoulder, oblivious to the way my hands have tightened around my mug. “It was just a weekend thing, right? Snow-bound hook-up, no strings attached.”
I stare at her, jaw clenched so tight I can hear my teeth grinding. Little fling. Just a weekend thing. The words echo in my head, each one like a fucking knife.
“I'm glad we can be mature about it,” she continues, stirring her drink. “It would suck if things were weird between us now that it's over.”
Over. The word hits me like a physical blow. Nothing about what happened between us felt over to me. Nothing about the way I've been obsessing over her for days feels like closure.
“So it's over,” I say flatly.
She tilts her head, studying me. “Well, yeah. Isn't that what you wanted? You made it pretty clear when you left.”
I did. I fucking did. I told her it was a one time thing, that it couldn't happen again. And now she's sitting here, accepting that like it's no big deal.
“Right,” I manage to say. “That's what I wanted.”
“So we're good.” She smiles, but there's something off about it.
“Good.” I nod, but the word tastes like acid. “We're good.”
I take a sip of my coffee, feeling it burn all the way down. Something about the casual way she dismissed what happened between us has my blood boiling. Like it was nothing. Like I haven't been fucking wrecked since I left her.
“You hungry?” The question bursts out of me before I can stop it.
She blinks, surprised. “What?”
“Hungry,” I repeat, already regretting the impulse but unable to stop. “That sugar bomb isn't breakfast. There's a place about ten minutes from here. Best breakfast you've ever had.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Are you…asking me to breakfast, Coach Kingston?”
“Don't call me that,” I growl. “And yeah, I guess I am.”
