“Well, in that case.” I tip her chin up so she’s looking at me. “You’re beautiful. And that was incredible. And I really like having you in my bed.”
Her smile softens. “I really like being here.”
We’re quiet for a while. Her breathing evens out. And that’s when it hits me.
This was fun, amazing, everything I wanted. But I want more.
I don’t want fun hookups where we laugh afterward and go our separate ways. I want this—her in my bed. Her choosing to stay. I want her exactly like she is right now, soft and open and real.
Not because I make things easy. Because I matter to her.
“Tania.”
“Mm?” She’s half-asleep already.
“I don’t want this to be fake anymore.”
But she doesn’t hear me. She’s already asleep.
CHAPTER 11
Tania
The luxury box overlooks center ice, with glass walls that give us a perfect view while keeping out the worst of the noise.
I invited Renata to come with me, but she had to work. It would have been fun to have her here, because I definitely need some girl energy.
But how can I complain? I’m spending time with the triplets I’ve had a crush on for the majority of my life.
Callum’s on his feet every time the home team gets close to scoring. Evan slouches back, beer in hand, grinning at Callum’s energy. Silas sits beside me, one arm draped along the back of the couch, ignoring his phone for once.
My phone buzzes. And it’s a text from my boss at the museum asking about delivery details for a Baroque piece being delivered on Monday.
I could text back, but a thirty-second call will solve the problem faster.
I stand. “Work call. I’ll be right back.”
Silas stops what he’s doing. “Everything okay?”
“Delivery question. Super quick.”
I slip out into the hallway and dial my boss.
“Hey, it’s Tania. You need the delivery details?”
“Yes! Thank you. I’ve been searching everywhere.”
I pull up an email and read her the details she needs.
“Perfect.” She sighs in relief. “Thanks so much. Sorry to interrupt your night.”
“No problem.”
I end the call and pocket my phone.
A man steps into my path. He’s probably in his mid-thirties, and his red face screams he’s had too much to drink.
“You’re her.” He’s grinning. “The Locke wife.”
