Fumbled (Playbook #2)(57)
TK’s large, shirtless body unfolds on top of my comforter. His basketball shorts rode up while he was sitting and his legs dusted with hair are on full display. Both hands are behind his head and his eyes are closed. He’s relaxed and not flexing, but somehow, his stupid muscles are still noticeable. When I try my hardest to flex my abs, you still have to poke through a layer of fluff to feel anything. He’s just lying here and I can count all eight of his six-pack.
Show-off.
“Damn. This is a comfy-ass bed.” He stretches, arching his back.
“It’s old. Maya got it for me when I was pregnant with Ace.” I lie down, trying to divert my eyes from the man beside me. “I told her I only needed a twin. I already felt like a mooch, pregnant, poor, and crashing in on her, but she told me a queen was the minimum I should lie on. I was lucky she didn’t listen to my objections. I swear, my belly got so big it would’ve hung off a twin and then Ace was born and didn’t leave my bed until I kicked him out for snoring.”
I smile at the memory of a tiny Ace in his co-sleeper lying next to me, the sweet little baby noises he’d make and his tiny little hands sneaking their way out of his blanket no matter how tight I’d swaddle him.
I turn my head and TK’s turned onto his side, watching me with an expression I’ve never seen.
“Sorry,” I say, realizing I’ve been rambling on about a mattress. “You know I talk a lot when I’m tired.”
He reaches a hand across the small gap between us and rests it on my hip. “Don’t be sorry,” he whispers, his eyes trying to communicate something I can’t decipher. “I want to know about everything I missed, even your mattress.”
“You do?” I’m not sure he knows what he’s asking for. Everything is a lot.
“Every night since I saw you guys at the park, I lie down, and no matter what’s going on or how shitty my day was, my mind always drifts off to you guys. What you’re doing while I’m alone. What little traditions you have, just the two of you, that I missed out on. I wonder if you’re glad I’m back or if I’m intruding on your life and making things harder for you.”
“I’ve been doing the same thing since I got on a plane and moved to Denver. I wondered what it’d be like for you to be there with me cheering at Ace’s soccer games and tucking him in at night, what it would feel like for us to be a family.” The words fall from my lips before I have a chance to think about them. I scoot closer to him, closing the small gap between us, until I feel his breath against my skin. “I tried to hate you, I really did. But it never worked.”
He slides one arm under my neck, his hand going to my hair and giving it a gentle tug. He forces me to look at his face and not his chest like I have been. “You know I never stopped loving you, Poppy, don’t you?”
The air around me goes static and my breath catches in my throat, all while my heart threatens to beat right out of my chest.
He continues on. “Because I didn’t. And now, seeing you with Ace, seeing what a great kid he is? I love you even more. I know you might not be ready to hear this, and that’s fine with me, but I need to tell you. I need you to know how sorry I am for being such a royal fuckup when we were kids and how thankful I am you’re the mother of my child.”
He’s wrong about one thing. I am ready to hear it. I’ve been ready since the day I left.
I close my eyes and burrow my face in the crook of his neck. But when I go to say it back to him, the words catch in my throat.
I’ve loved TK for as long as I can remember. Hell, I loved him when I hated him. And for some reason I’m not sure even I understand, I can’t tell him that. I know he means the words he is saying and I know he thinks he wants to stick around forever, but I also know how hard this parenting gig is. I’ve already bogged him down with so much, I don’t need to throw my feelings on top of everything.
Instead of talking, I move my hands from their tucked position in between us and onto his bare chest, pushing up to his shoulders and stopping behind his neck. I pull his head toward mine, fully aware I’m starting something I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.
Something I don’t want to stop.
TK reads where this is going. This close to him, I get to watch as the green of his eyes disappears. His eyelids lower, his pupils dilate, and it’s clear he wants to go where I’m taking him. Yet he still pulls back an inch and studies my face. “Are you sure you want this? I don’t need you to lick my wounds, I promise I’m okay with you not saying you love me. I don’t want you to regret this.”
Dammit.
I really do love him.
“I’m sure.” I pull him closer again. “And it’s not your wounds I want to lick.”
He groans and I smile.
“Fuck.” All restraint thrown out the window, he rolls me flat on my back, nudges his knee between my thighs, and then crashes his mouth onto mine. His beard scratches against my chin, but it doesn’t bother me. Instead, it sparks every nerve ending in my body, magnifying the most inconspicuous touch.
My mouth opens to his without a second thought and he takes the invitation. There’s no teasing, no softness, just a relentless attack I cannot get enough of. When he nips at my bottom lip, my back arches off the bed and he slides his hands up the back of my shirt with an efficiency I can only admire.