She plants herself firmly in front of the sink, arms propped on her hips like she’s guarding her territory and has no intention of moving.
I lift an eyebrow, then reach over her shoulder and pull a plate out of the sink. I load it into the dishwasher—what’s she really going to do about it?—then reach for another.
Sarah’s eyes narrow, then she moves lightning fast, grabbing the hand sprayer and aiming it at me, her other hand poised on the faucet. “Don’t think I won’t do it,” she says, a smile playing around her mouth. “You move one more inch, and I’ll soak you from head to toe.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say as I reach for another dish.
She presses her lips together, then she shoots me with a two-second blast of ice-cold water that hits me square in the chest. Her eyes widen like she can’t quite believe she actually did it.
“Oh, you’re getting it now,” I say, reaching for her, but she’s too fast. She turns the water back on, and this time she doesn’t hold back. She drenches the front of me, squealing and laughing as she out-maneuvers me, jumping this way and that to stay out of my reach.
I stand perfectly still, water dripping off the tip of my nose and trickling down my chest. As close as we’re standing, I have no idea how she managed to stay so dry, but there’s hardly a drop of water on her. The woman has excellent aim.
She looks at me, silent laughter shaking her shoulders, and I can’t help but grin. She reaches for a dish towel sitting on the counter beside the sink and holds it out to me. “Here. It looks like you need this. You have a little water right here.” She touches the tip of her nose.
“Very funny,” I say, taking the towel. I use it to dry my face, then I toss it onto the counter and reach for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. It’s dripping all over the floor, so my decision is mostly practical. But that doesn’t mean I’m not hoping to get at least a little rise out of Sarah.
I toss the shirt onto the counter beside the towel, watching as her eyes dip to my torso.
I step closer, crowding her against the sink, setting my arms on either side of her. “Do you know what I think?” I say, my voice low.
She licks her lips, eyes glassy as she asks, “What’s that?”
“I think you did that on purpose.”
She lifts her hand to the penny hanging around my neck, picking it up then letting it fall as her fingers graze down my chest to the top of my abs. My eyes close as goosebumps break out across my skin. I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, I just know I don’t want her to ever stop touching me.
“Did what on purpose?” she asks, her voice much too innocent. It’s that little bit of sass in her tone that snaps me back to the moment.
“You won’t distract me out of doing the dishes,” I say. It’s taking all my willpower to make that statement true.
Both her hands are on me now, skimming up my chest and over the tops of my shoulders. “Are you sure about that?” she asks, and it’s all I can do to stay on my feet. She has no idea how much she’s killing me.
“Okay, you’re done,” I say, then I crouch and pick her up, tossing her over my shoulder and carrying her around the island and into the living room.
She laughs and squeals and beats against my back, but she’s not truly fighting me. I deposit her on the couch, flat on her back, then I hover over her, my hands resting on either side of her head. “You’re disqualified for not playing fair,” I say.
Her eyes darken as her gaze drops to my lips. “I don’t know,” she says softly. “I think…maybe some rules are made to be broken.”
She’s asking me to kiss her, and not for the first time.
Iwantto kiss her.
But a part of me is still scared to do it. I’ve already kissed her enough to know that if I let myself have her because I want her, there’s no coming back from that. I’ll be all in—all the way.
Even if she never comes to a game. Even if I never understand why. Even if I’m never quite certain she would have chosen mefor me.I’ll be in too deep to care, to want any life but one that has her in it.
Slowly, Sarah lifts her hands to my forearms, her thumbs tracing circles on my skin. “I’m scared, Carter,” she says, a new vulnerability in her tone. And that’s what pushes me over the edge. What makes me realize it’s already too late.
I’m in love with her. Wholly. Completely.
And then the doorbell rings.
Sarah grips my arms a little tighter, a question in her gaze. “Are we expecting anyone?” she asks.
I lean back and shift, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Not that I’m aware of,” I say. I pull up the app for our doorbell camera and check the live feed. “It’s your brother.”
“What’s he doing here?” Sarah moves to sit up, and I scoot back, giving her a little more room.
