Risky Play (Red Card #1)(45)

She spewed coffee back into her cup. “Do I want to know?”

I shuddered. “No.” The French toast had caramelized perfectly. I set a piece onto a plate and dished out more for myself, then handed her a fork. “Eat up.”

“You . . .” She stared at the French toast. “You made me food?”

I shrugged. “You seem hell-bent on getting me to eat. Don’t seem so shocked. I’m just trying to see how many times I can get your mouth to water when you see me—and what better way to do that than with food? Hell, it would make my life if your mouth started . . .” My eyes lowered to her gorgeous pout. “Watering . . . whenever you heard my name.”

She shifted in her seat.

I grinned knowingly.

And then grinned harder when she sent me a seething glare.

She took a bite.

Closed her eyes and let out the most erotic groan I’d ever heard in my entire life.

I clutched the edge of the table with my free hand so I wouldn’t reach for her.

“And that too.” I dug in to my own food with my free hand.

“What?” Her eyes popped open.

“The moan . . . I didn’t get to hear it the way I want to, but I still got to hear it.”

Another bite disappeared into her mouth, and then she licked the caramel off the fork. “You’re manipulative.”

“I know what I want. Big difference.”

She pointed her fork at me. “You’re lucky this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Does that mean you’re going to moan again?”

“Stop, you’re ruining my moment with this glaze.” She tossed a napkin at my face.

“Should I leave you alone with the entire dish?”

“I don’t trust myself not to go all the way,” she whispered like the dish could hear her. “And nobody wants to see me unbutton my too-tight jeans to make room.”

I smiled. “I don’t know, I think I’d fucking love to see that.”

“Because I’d be partially undressed?”

“No.” I leaned in and licked my lips. “Because nothing looks better than a woman satisfied.”

Her lips parted.

I reached across and swiped my thumb near the corner of her mouth, then sucked the glaze from it. “Don’t you agree?”

“I . . . uh. Yes.”

“I have to go to camp and then practice.” I turned and grabbed my duffel from the floor, then put it in front of my constantly hard dick—her fault. “Enjoy my family’s secrets.”

“Wait.” Her hand jutted out. “Thanks again, it was really . . . sweet. You know, the opposite of what you typically are to other humans.”

“Yeah, deserved that.” I sighed. “Are you ever going to forgive me?”

“Maybe when you grovel.”

I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Baby, if you want me on my hands and knees, all you gotta do is ask.”

I left her with that parting thought.

And me with a raging hard-on.

Which I needed to get rid of immediately so I didn’t get arrested on my last day of soccer camp.

I grinned as I made my way to the car.

All in all, not the worst Saturday I’d ever had.





Chapter Thirty-Four SLADE

Worst. Saturday. Ever.

Jagger wouldn’t stop staring at his phone with a shit-eating grin on his face, and I couldn’t stop trying to peer over his shoulder to see what put it there.

“Slade,” he said without looking up. “Look over my shoulder one more time and I’m punching you in the dick.”

I jerked back. “Can’t a guy be curious?”

He put his phone away and crossed his arms. “Curious is asking if I have a cold. Creepy is when you keep trying to read my texts and breathe down my neck in the process.”

I scowled. “I was just . . . bored.”

“Bored.” His eyebrows shot up. “Have to admit, that’s a new one.”

Idiot. Table for one.

I was waiting for a smart retort to pop up in my brain. Instead, I stared at him slack-jawed like I’d just been hit by a ball.

Our kids started arriving then.

Danny was finally smiling.

All was right with the world.

Except it wasn’t.

Because my world, however cash filled it was, didn’t include the one thing that Jagger apparently had.

Her.

Fuck, I’d been an idiot for blaming her.

For letting her go.

For thinking I could last without tasting her again.

I would do things differently.

But that was the shit part about life—you didn’t get do-overs. You got one chance, and then maybe if you were lucky and you screwed up—you got another.

I was out of chances.

“You look sad,” Danny said, coming to stand next to me. The kid had his arms crossed and was wearing one of my jerseys. “Mom says low blood sugar makes me moody. Here.” He handed me a warm, half-melted protein bar. “This should do the trick.”

“Sure will.” I laughed. “Are you sure you weren’t supposed to eat that, though?”

“Gross, like I would ever eat the cookies-and-cream flavor. I already tossed a peanut butter one in my bag. That one was in my pocket!”