No point denying it. “Damn right I was.”
“Someone’s a little territorial.”
“A lot,” I say, but I want to return to the subject at hand. “What did you mean when you saidabout that?”
She blows out a breath. It’s playful—festive even. “I politely turned down my mother’s matchmaking efforts. That’s what I meant.”
Fuck yes. Hearing this news is better than scoring a goal. “Why did you say no?”
“You’re pushy.”
“Just being real. Why did you say no?” I ask again.
She’s quiet for a beat, her eyes serious. “I didn’t feel any sparks. Sparks are important. And that’s why I need to find someone for you that you’ll have sparks with.”
Fuck that. I have no interest in setups right now. “You said I’d need a few dating lessons before you set me up again,” I point out, like I’ve caught her on a technicality.
“Yes, that’s true.”
Since we’re being honest, I add, “And I need to be the kind of man I can live with. The kind my parents would be proud of. The kind my daughter would be proud of too. And that kind of man isn’t going to see someone else evenplatonically,” I say, pausing to let that word sink in, “while he’s practice-dating someone else.”
There. It’s a line in the sand. And really, how can she argue here? She can still give me all the dating lessons she wants as a coach.
She stares through the windshield into the inky black night, the stars winking in the dark sky. Then she turnsback to me wearing that serious expression on her face that I’ve seen a few times tonight. “I hear you,” she says, before she looks toward the door of her parents’ home.
A sign.
I read it loud and clear this time, saying a soft but clear, “Let me walk you to the door.”
“Okay.”
I get out, circle around the car, and head along the stone pathway to the porch, ready to say goodnight. But before we reach the steps, she stops, sets a hand on my chest. “I lied.”
“About what?” I ask, my guard up.
She closes her eyes, then opens them. They sparkle with desire. She grabs the collar of my sweater. “When I said I’m the best at resisting.” Her lips curve into a grin.
I smirk. “You’re the worst at it.”
Her fist tightens on my sweater. “I am.”
Easing closer, I cup her cheek. “But so am I.”
I run my thumb along her jawline in a slow and tender caress. She sighs into it, her cheek tilting into my hand. Something like relief floods her features—a softness to counter her sadness from earlier.
Her shoulders relax. She parts her lips, giving in to these sparks. I drop my mouth to hers and kiss her for a second time.
But it feels like the first.
26
A COUPLE WILD RACCOONS
ISLA
This isn’t an accidental kiss under the mistletoe. It’s deliberate.
This is a line I never thought I’d cross. He’s my brother’s best friend. He’s my leading client. He’s the man I can’t stop thinking about.
