I rest my forehead against hers, trying my damndest to regulate my breathing. “I was trying to be noble.”
“Save nobility for the vineyard. Be real with me,” she pleads. Then she adds, “Besides, I’m willing to bet on this. Us.”
“Betting’s illegal.” I duck my head and kiss the side of her neck.
She arches into my ministrations. “I’ll take my chances. You?”
A low, rough moan escapes me before I kiss her again. Slower, more reverent. An agreement with her assessment. When our lips slowly pull apart, I murmur, “This isn’t a game. Not to me.”
Her fingers tangle in my hair. “I didn’t come here for this.”
“I know.”
“But I want to give this a chance.”
“So do I.” I brush my thumb across the apple of her cheek. “Do you want dessert?”
She smiles and presses against me. “I thought that’s what we were having.”
This time, when our lips meet, I stop thinking about anything but us.
I know nothing in my life will ever taste the same again.
18
CHECKDOWN: QB DUMPS THE BALL OFF TO A NEARBY RB WHEN DEEPER OPTIONS AREN’T OPEN.
Iwake with a gasp.
As I slowly come out of my sleep fog, I struggle to separate what really happened between me and Troy as opposed to what I dreamed last night. Falling back against my pillows, I let my eyes drift shut to remember every second of our first kiss.
After all, dreams are beautiful, but they don’t hold a candle to reality.
Part of me wants to stay caught up in the fantasy of that memory. But the realistic part of me, the woman who has been burned, is already asking what’s next?
Where do we go from here?
I roll to my side in the oversized bed and tug a pillow up against my chest. The fresh scent of linen reminds me faintly of Troy’s cologne I was up close and personal with not that many hours ago.
I knew from the moment I initiated our relationship change, from the second our lips met, everything would be different.
But what if it wasn’t the right thing? What if we were meant to remain friends?The cautious part of me that’s still scarred from Bryce nudges into my halcyon bliss remembering the feel of Troy’s lips on mine. My stomach twists at the idea. I clutch the pillow even more tightly at the thought of going downstairs to find he regrets what happened between us.
Aloud, I tell the empty room, “I like him. Not just the way he kissed me, but him. I’ve always liked him.” And that’s true. From the moment Troy and I met, there was this pull between us. At first, I attributed it to him being Bryce’s former teammate.
Now, I know better.
Troy is wonderful, has been from the moment we met and in every interaction thereafter. I grin remembering one night when he surprised me by arriving early and the two of us sat on the couch watchingThe Food that Made America.
“So, this is why I can eat my weight in chocolate chip cookies,” he muses.
I elbow him. “Nice to see Troy Walsh has a weakness.”
His eyes hold mine. I feel my heart trip even as he replies, “More than one, if you must know.”
That’s when he asks me, “What’s yours?”
Immediately, I answer, “Italian food.”
