Page 10 of The Overtime Kiss
I drain the margarita, and as I set the glass down, theweight of the day starts to lift off me. More wedding day truths bubble to the surface. “And, to be fair, I did get my two wishes—no doves and to wear a tiara.”
“Doves?” he repeats, his brow furrowing. “Please tell me those were never actually planned.”
“I put my foot down on that one. My mother wanted to release them after the ceremony, but most doves can’t survive in the wild. They’re just for show, and it’s terrible for the animals. I told her no.”
“My daughter would love that answer.” Tyler’s fond smile says he’s so smitten with her. “She’s obsessed with learning about animals, so I’ve picked up a thing or two.”
“That’s sweet,” I say, enjoying the way he talks about Luna. He’s always listening to her wishes at her lessons. That’s not something a lot of parents do. Mine hardly ever did. They wanted more drills, more exercise, more time. “She asks me so many questions about my foster kittens when we’re skating.”
“She loves hearing about them almost as much as she loves practicing her twizzles,” he says. Then he nods to the tiara. “So that’s all you, then? The bling?”
I can’t tell if he thinks the tiara is silly, like Chad did, or if he’s asking sincerely. But then I decide he’s not the type of guy who’d think a tiara is ridiculous.
I touch the crown absently, the rhinestones cool under my fingers. “It’s not about being a princess or anything. I just like sparkly things.”
“No surprise there,” he teases.
I swat his thigh, laughing, and then freeze. My hand lingers for a second, resting against the solid, denim-clad muscle beneath it. The heat of him radiates through the fabric. The strength of him makes my mind wander, and my pulse takes off. “I’m sorry I hit your thigh.”
But I’m not really sorry. Mostly I want to touch him again. The intensity of my desire is surprising. And not unwelcome.
“I noticed,” he says, his grin widening as I remove my hand.
“And…it’s rock hard,” I say, louder than I should have.
“Thank you,” he replies, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
I clear my throat, recovering quickly. “Hockey players. Strong thighs. Comes with the territory.”
“It does,” he agrees, his gaze skimming me briefly. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—interest, maybe even desire too. “But figure skaters are no strangers to hard work either.”
“We’ll have to have a skills competition sometime,” I say.
“That so? You want to take shots on goal while I?—”
“Do the camel spin,” I say impulsively, the image of him doing the pretty spin in hockey gear delighting me.
“You’re on, Snow,” he says, then offers a hand for shaking.
I take it. Is it wrong that I’m a little turned on by how much better his handshake is than Fuck Chad’s? Well, if it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.
“It’s a deal, Falcon,” I say.
He lets go of my hand, then clears his throat. Those haunting hazel eyes linger on me, like he’s working through not what to say next but whether or not to say it. “For what it’s worth, you wear a tiara very well,” he says, a hint of something more in his tone.
The compliment is thrilling. Temptingly so. My chest heats, and I wonder if he feels this connection too.
“Thank you,” I say, warmth spreading through me, my limbs loose and melty, my inhibitions dropping. Was I ready to pledge my love to Chad today? Of course I was. Did I have some doubts in the back of my mind? Maybe. Have I beentaught by my parents to ignore my doubts, ignore my feelings, ignore everything except the attainment of success? Yes.
Except…I don’t want to ignore the way I feel right now with this sexy, smoldering man I’d never flirt with at work. But we’re not at work. His kids aren’t around, and I’m unexpectedly single.
And very interested in this hot single dad—his clever mouth, and soulful eyes, his big hands. What would those hands feel like coasting over my body? How would his beard feel whisking across my face, my belly, my legs?
I clench my thighs, and the questions keep coming. How would I feel if a man like him showed me…everything I’ve been missing in bed? Because I have definitely been missing, well, everything.
The margarita whispers that it’s a good idea to see if he’d like to go to my room. Then I remember I don’t have a room. After finding the rink closed, I spotted a roadside sign for a hotel and asked Rhonda to take me here. Rhonda dropped me off, giving me her card and insisting I call if I need anything, but the front desk said they were fresh out of rooms.
So, I marched into the bar, no idea what to do next.
