Fumbled (Playbook #2)(74)

“You won’t get slapped,” TK says, his body bouncing again.

“You don’t know that!” I yell at him, hoping these walls are as thick as I think they are.

TK stops laughing and moves one hand to my ass and the other one up to my hair, tugging it lightly to force my eyes to his. “Just come to one more game. Ace loves it and I’ve never, not in my NFL career, had the feeling I had running onto the field tonight knowing my girl and son were in the stands.”

Dammit.

My insides melt at his words and the determination I’ve been clinging to fades away.

“Fine,” I agree, but not happy about it. “One more game.”

His eyes go warm, crinkling at the corners.

“Thank you,” he whispers, dropping a quick kiss onto my forehead.

Then, without warning, he flips me on my back, spreads my legs open, and shows me just how thankful he is.

A couple of orgasms later, I’m pretty sure I’ll agree to anything.





Thirty-two




“Love you!” I yell to Ace’s back as he hurries into school, no doubt trying to pretend he doesn’t know who I am. “Have the best day ever and learn stuff!”

He breaks into a run.

Yup.

Definitely denying sharing my DNA today.

Whatever.

Embarrassing your kid is a privilege all moms have. It’s in the Mom Handbook or something.

I pull my knit cardigan a little tighter across my chest and start my walk home. I don’t know if this is going to be one of the Colorado falls where the chill comes early and doesn’t leave until well into spring, or if this is a one-off and it’s just too early for even the sun to do its job, but it’s chilly.

Talking and laughing with Ace as he moaned and groaned about having to write in cursive this year and filled me in on the latest tales of fourth-grade gossip distracted me from the way my body still felt on fire from last night. But now, all alone with my thoughts and—holy freaking hell—memories, it’s all I notice. I don’t know if, after the way TK nipped and teased them last night, my nipples are still hard from that, the weather, or just thinking about TK. Or maybe it was the way TK made both Ace and me breakfast and woke me up by whispering in my ear and dropping a sweet kiss on my lips before he had to leave to get checked out, go to meetings, and watch film.

All are valid guesses.

Maybe it’s a combination of them all.

My hips ache, my thighs feel as though I spent the day in the gym squatting and lunging, and even my back hurts.

My back has never hurt after sex.

But I’ve also never had so much sex in so many different positions as I did last night. Each step closer to my house is a feat and I decide to reward myself for walking Ace to school (even though he’s convinced he’s too old for an escort) with a hot bath using the Lush bath bomb I’ve been saving for the last couple of months.

Then, when I get out of the bath, I’m going to look up yoga classes. I’m thinking it would be beneficial for this new, sexy, bendy stage of my life.

I round the corner to my block and wave to Cole as he pulls into his driveway. He waves back, but it’s terse and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s still friendly and we chat every now and again during soccer practice, but it’s been different since that day at the park with TK.

Not that I mind. He’s not touchy anymore and stopped sending right-on-the-verge-of-creepy messages through his kid, so that’s a plus.

With my purple shutters and fence in sight and my teeth starting to chatter a bit, I speed up my pace.

I pull open my gate, which, thanks to TK, not only is a bright, fresh white but also no longer creaks when it opens. I don’t know if it was part of TK’s plan, but every time I open it, I think about him and smile.

I still can’t quite believe the way things have happened, but I’d be a damn liar if I said I was upset about any of it.

Yeah, the flowers were creepy, but nothing has happened since and it got TK in my bed every night, which means orgasms every night and his beard against my face when he kisses me each morning. It’s dinner with my family, Ace calling him Dad, lounging in the living room, laughing and creating memories. Every. Single. Day.

And I love it.

He hasn’t talked about making it permanent or what the next steps are going to be. And I’m okay with that. I know what I signed up for and I’m not going to push for more. Plus, even if I tried, there’s no way I’d ever move to Parker . . . ever. Saying I’m not your typical suburban housewife/stay-at-home mom is the understatement of the century. And I highly doubt TK is down for leaving his mansion to live in my tiny bungalow in the kinda hood.

I push open the front door and enter in the password, disarming and then arming the alarm system, and toss my sweater on the couch and leave my shoes sprawled out in the small entryway. I know it’s easy enough take them back to my room, but since I’m wearing them to work in a couple of hours, it feels like a waste of time.

I walk into the kitchen, turn on the coffee machine, and measure out double the amount I would normally use. A night filled with lots of acrobatics and not much sleep calls for it.

Again, not that I’m complaining.

At. All.

I push the button for the coffee to brew, and as soon as I hear the wonderful humming as it gets down to business, my doorbell rings.