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My body aches as I move around the kitchen, but the burn is so deliciously good that I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I can’t remember ever feeling that incredible after sex. Or during for that matter. You’d think Beckett and I had been together for years with the way he understood my body and controlled my release. I was putty in his hands, ready to be manipulated any way he pleased, and yet, I knew with absolute certainty that I was the one in control.

I didn’t even have to speak.

If I moaned, Beckett increased the pressure. If I rolled my hips, he focused on my core. If I screamed…

Heat creeps up from my chest, and the warmth on my cheeks pulls me back to the present.

“Shit.” I press stop on my electric mixer, and clench my teeth as I assess the cookie mix I’m making for Ava. “Thank God. Get out of your head, Lily.”

If I mess this up, I’m going to have to start over. I promised Ava we’d make cookies when she got home from her dad’s, but the dough needs an hour to set.

Grabbing my phone, I bring up my music playlist and hit go, hoping to distract myself from the inappropriate thoughts, and it works. I manage to get the dough in the fridge before Beckett’s face, or more specifically his eyes, re-enters my mind. His beautiful, broody, piercing eyes that make me feel like he’s staring into my soul. It’s both wonderful and terrifying.

He gets me. More than anyone ever has, even Henley.

I have no doubt that when I tell her what happened between me and Beckett, she’ll encourage us to give it a shot, to risk our hearts. After all, she’s a romantic. She follows the “it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” philosophy. And I adore her for that.

But that’s not me.

As Beckett and I discussed, we both have a lot going on in our lives. A lot to juggle. Throwing a long-distance boyfriend into the mix wouldn’t be easy… And God, we haven’t even talked about status. He may not even want that.

At the moment, it’s nothing more than a “see you soon.”

I’m getting ahead of myself. Which is part of the problem. If I’m already thinking about him during every waking moment, what would happen if we took things beyond the physical?

I can’t risk my heart like that. Or Ava’s.

Sadness seeps into my Beckett-filled bubble, and the cracks become more obvious.

While I’d love nothing more than to see him again, we were right to end it the way we did. If we see each other again, great. If not, that’s okay too. Having no expectations is better than obsessing over the when and how. He’s a professional football player. He has an incredibly busy life in the spotlight, away from our quaint little town. I’ve been best friends with Henley for almost ten years, and I’ve only ever seen him a handful of times. He doesn’t come home.

Hell, Clairmont isn’t even home for him anymore.

This is easier. Better. Meant to be.

But goddammit, I miss him already.

My doorbell rings just as my timer goes off for the cookie dough, and I glance up with a frown until I see the time and gasp.

Ava’s home.

“Mom?” she calls out from the doorway, and the tension drains from my body. Weightlessness takes over me, and the sadness I was feeling eases. She’s home.

“I’m here.” The second Ava comes into view she runs toward me, throwing herself into my arms, and the world feels right again. “I missed you, sweetie.”

“I missed you too.” She pulls back and smiles up at me, her blue eyes shining while mine fill with tears.

“I have to show Dad something.” Without an explanation, she runs off down the hall toward her bedroom, leaving Travis and me alone in the hallway. The silence is awkward, but when he breaks it, it’s so much worse. “Are you dating Beckett Myers?” he asks, his tone accusatory.

“Excuse me?” I choke on my words, coughing a few times before I recover. “Why would you ask that?” My first thought is that he’s had my house bugged, until the absurdity of that notion almost makes me laugh. Jesus. Were we photographed together?

“Ava wouldn’t stop talking about him. Doesn’t he play in San Francisco?” Travis’s brows furrow as though he’s not quite sure, but we both know that’s a lie. He mentioned the trade to Henley when it first happened.

“Beckett does play for the San Francisco Storm, yes.”

“And you're dating him?” he asks again, his voice low and gruff. “How’s that going to work? You wouldn’t move to New York for the sake of your daughter. But for yourself—” His tone pisses me off, and I’m shaking my head before he’s finished speaking.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” I cut him off, speaking in hushed tones since Ava could be back any second. “Who I date is none of your business.”