“Oh, like a doctor drill.”
“Yep. A doctor drill. Nurses do it, too.”
“Very cool. And you’re comparing those to your real life experiences to find gaps?”
“Yes, exactly.” She spins around, and now I’m washing her breasts.
Between us, my cock lifts in hard-to-deny appreciation for her curves. “Ignore him. I know you have to get to the hospital. But I was thinking maybe you could come to the game tonight?”
“What?” She jerks her head up.
I’m still holding her tits.
“Bad segue,” I admit.
“Oh, Logan.”
“Watch from the rafters if you want, but wear my jersey and I’ll score you a goal.” When she hesitates, I say something I don’t mean at all. “As a friend?”
“You don’t want to be friends.” She tugs at the chain around my neck, at the ring she gave me. “You’re still wearing this.”
“You’ve got me. I want a hell of a lot more than friendship with my wife.”
“Has anyone asked you about this yet?”
“No. And it’s none of their business.”
“My father?”
“Definitely none of his business.” I take her hand in mine and kiss her bare ring finger. “I don’t expect you to wear yours if you aren’t ready. Let’s start with how good it’ll feel for you to cheer me on at a game and go from there.”
She sucks in a quick breath. “Okay, I’ll come to the game tonight.”
I grin. “You’re going to be so proud of me.”
She looks skeptical, and with good reason. LA is a very good team and Buffalo hasn’t been great in a very long time.
But reputation isn’t everything.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” A little smile tugs at her mouth.
“You’re worrying that we’re going to lose tonight. And sure, sometimes we’re terrible. But with you in the stands, anything is possible.”
It’s still dark out when I stride into the hotel, earbuds in, head down. I listened to another chapter ofThe Mist At Dawn’s Edgeon the drive from Frankie’s house, and there’s currently barbed flirting going on in my ear.
Breakfast won’t be served for a couple of hours, so there’s no reason to think I’ll run into anyone from the team. But crossing the lobby, takeout coffee cup in hand, is Coach Wilson. And because of the frustrated growls in my ear, I don’t notice him until it’s too late to avoid coming face to face.
He takes in my damp, curling hair with an unreadable but painfully familiar expression.
The same look, I realize with a jolt, that Frankie described when she talked about dinner with her father on New Year’s Eve.
My hand tightens on the strap of my duffel bag as we stop in front of the elevators together, and I reluctantly take out one of my earbuds to not be rude.
“Early morning workout?” he asks.
The lie would be so easy. I could nod, let him assume I was grinding through extra conditioning. But that might lead to a lecture for over training, and also, I’m a grown ass man who doesn’t need to hide, even if I’m not going to revealwhoI was with.
